The Cu­ri­os­i­ties of Ale & Beer,
By John Bic­ker­dyke.

Some years ago this strange neglect of so excellent a theme was observed by the late John Greville Fennell, best known as a contributor to The Field, and who, like “John of the Dale,” was a “lover of ale.” With him probably originated the idea of filling this void in our literature. As occasion offered he made extracts from works bearing on the subject, and in time amassed a considerable amount of material, which was, however, devoid of arrangement. Old age overtaking him before he was able to commence writing his proposed book, he asked me to undertake that which from failing health he was unable to accomplish. To this I assented, and at the end of some months had prepared a complete scheme of the book, with the materials for each chapter carefully grouped. That arrangement, for which I am responsible, has, with a few slight modifications, been carefully adhered to. The work did not then proceed further, as to carry out my scheme a large amount of additional matter, from sources not then available, was required. A few months later my friend was taken seriously ill, and, finding his end approaching, directed that on his decease all papers connected with the book should be placed at my disposal. His death seems to render a statement of our respective shares in the book desirable.

When able to resume work on the book, with the object of hastening its publication, I obtained the assistance of my friend, Mr. J. M. D——. By the collection of fresh matter, in amplification of that already arranged, and the addition of several new features, we have considerably increased the scope of the work, and, it is to be hoped, added to its attractiveness. To my friend’s researches in the City of London and other Records is due the bringing to light of many curious facts, so far as I am aware, never before noticed. He has also rendered me great assistance in those portions of the book in which the antiquities of the subject are specially treated.

The illustrations have been in most part taken from rare old works. As any smoothing away of defects in such relics of the past would be deemed by many an offence against the antiquarian code of morality, they have been reproduced in exact fac-simile, and will no doubt appeal to those interested in the art of the early engraver, and amuse many with their quaintness.

As aptly terminating the chapter devoted to an account of the medicinal qualities of ale and beer, I have ventured to enter upon a short consideration of the leading teetotal arguments. In extending their denunciations to ale and beer drinkers, the total abstainers are, in my opinion, working a very grievous injury on the labouring classes, who for centuries have found the greatest benefit from the use of malt liquors. Barley-broth should be looked upon as the temperance drink of the people or, in other words, the drink of the temperate.

SUPPRESSION OF BEER SHOPS IN EGYPT 2,000 B.C. — BREWING IN A TEAPOT. — ALE SONGS. — DISTINCTIONS BETWEEN ALE AND BEER. — ALE-KNIGHTS’ OBJECTION TO SACK. — HOGARTH AND TEMPERANCE. — IMPORTANCE OF ALE TO THE AGRICULTURAL LABOURER. — SIR JOHN BARLEYCORNE INTRODUCED TO THE READER.

OUR thou­sand years ago, if old in­scrip­tions and pa­pyri lie not, Egypt was con­vulsed by the high-handed pro­ceed­ings of cer­tain per­sons in au­thor­i­ty who in­clined to the opin­ion that the beer shops were too many. Think of it, ye modern Sup­pres­sion­ists! ’Tis now forty cen­turies since first your theories saw the light, and yet there is not a town in our hap­py coun­try with­out its ale­house.

While those disturbing members of the Egyptian community were waxing wrath over the beer shops, our savage ancestors probably contented themselves with such drinks as mead made from wild honey, {2} or cyder from the crab tree. But when Ceres sent certain of her votaries into our then benighted land to initiate our woad-dressed forefathers into the mysteries of grain-growing, the venerable Druids quickly discovered the art of brewing that beverage which in all succeeding years has been the drink of Britons.

most truly wrote an Oxford poet, whose name has not been handed down to posterity.

Almost every inhabitant of this country has tasted beer of some kind or another, but on the subject of brewing the great majority have ideas both vague and curious. About one person out of ten imagines that pale ale consists solely of hops and water; indeed, more credit is given by most persons to the hop than to the malt. In order to give a proper understanding of our subject, and at the risk of ruining the brewing trade, let us then, in ten lines or so, inform the world at large how, with no other utensils than a tea-kettle and a saucepan, a quart or two of ale may be brewed, and the revenue defrauded.

Into your tea-kettle, amateur brewer, cast a quart of malt, and on it pour water, hot, but not boiling; let it stand awhile and stir it. Then pour off the sweet tea into the saucepan, and add to the tea-leaves boiling water again, and even a third time, until possibly a husband would rebel at the weak liquid which issues from the spout. The saucepan is now nearly full, thanks to the frequent additions from the tea-kettle, so on to the fire with it, and boil up its contents for an hour or two, not forgetting to add of hops half-an-ounce, or a little more. This process over, let the seething liquor cool, and, when at a little below blood-heat, throw into it a small particle of brewer’s yeast. The liquor now ferments; at the end of an hour skim it, and lo! beneath the scum is bitter beer—in quantity, a quart or more. After awhile bottle the results of your brew, place it in a remote corner of your cellar, and order in a barrel of XXX. from the nearest brewer.

If the generality of people have ideas of the vaguest on the subject of brewing, still less do we English know of the history of that excellent compound yclept ale.

Old ballad makers have certainly sung in its praise, but it is a subject which few prose writers have touched upon, except in the most superficial manner. Modern song writers rarely take ale as their theme. The reason is not far to seek. The ale of other days—not the single beer rightly stigmatised as “whip-belly vengeance,” nor even the doble beer, but the doble-doble beer brewed against law, and beloved by the ale-knights of old—was of such mightiness that whoso drank of it, more often than not dashed off a verse or two in its praise. Now most people drink small beer which exciteth not the brain to poesy. Could one of the ancient topers be restored to life, in tasting a glass of our most excellent bitter, he would, in all likelihood, make a wry face, for hops were not always held in the estimation they obtain at present. There is no doubt, however, that we could restore his equanimity and make him tolerably happy with a gallon or two of old Scotch or Burton ale, double stout or, better still, a mixture of the three with a little aqua vitæ added.

In these pages it will be our task, aided or unaided by strong ale as the case may be, to remove the reproach under which this country rests; for surely a reproach it is that the history of the bonny nut-brown ale, to which we English owe not a little, should have been so long left unwritten.

Now ale has a curious history which, as we have indicated, will be related anon, together with other matters pertaining to the subject. At present let us only chat awhile concerning the great Sir John Barleycorn, malt liquors of the past and present, their virtues, and importance to the labouring classes. Also may we consider the foolish ideas of certain worthy but misguided folk, halting now and again, should we find ourselves growing too serious, to chant a jolly old drinking song, that the way may be more enlivened. If on reaching the first stage of our journey you, dear reader, and ourselves remain friends, let us in each other’s company pass lightly and cheerfully over the path which Sir John Barleycorn has traversed, and fight again his battles, rejoicing at his victories; grieving over his defeats—if any there be. If, on the other hand, it so happens that by the time we arrive at our first halting place you should grow weary of us—which the Spirit of Malt forbid!—let us at once part company, friends none the less, and consign us to a place high up on your bookshelf, or with kindly words present us to the President of the United Kingdom Alliance.

In accusing modern poets of neglecting to sing the praises of our {4} national drink, we must not forget that in one place is kept up the good old custom of brewing strong beer and glorifying it in verse. At Brasenose College, Oxford, beer of the strongest, made of the best malt and hops, is brewed once a year, distributed ad. lib., and verses are written in its praise. Mr. Prior, the college butler, to whom is due the honour of having kept alive the custom for very many years, writes us1 that it is proposed to pull down the old college brewery. Should this happen, Brasenose ale will become a thing of the past.

wrote a Brasenose poet. Alas, that both poets and ale should soon become extinct!

Among the few prose writers past or present who have taken ale for their subject, John Taylor, of whom a good deal will be heard in these pages, stands pre-eminent. His little work, Drinke and Welcome, written some two hundred years ago, and which glorifies ale in a manner most marvellous, is one of the most curious literary productions it has ever been our good fortune to read. “Ale is rightly called nappy,” says the old Thames waterman and innkeeper, “for it will set a nap upon a man’s threed-bare eyes when he is sleepy. It is called Merry-goe-downe, for it slides downe merrily; It is fragrant to the Sent, it is most pleasing to the taste. The flowring and mantling of it (like chequer worke) with the verdant smiling of it, is delightefull to the Sight, it is Touching or Feeling to the Braine and Heart; and (to please the senses all) it provokes men to singeing and mirth, which is contenting to the Hearing. The speedy taking of it doth comfort a heavy and troubled minde; it will make a weeping widowe laugh and forget sorrow for her deceas’d husband. . . . . It will set a Bashfull Suiter a wooing; It heates the chill blood of the Aged; It will cause a man to speake past his owne or any other man’s capacity, or understanding; It sets an Edge upon Logick and Rhetorick; It is a friend to the Muses; It inspires the poore Poet, that cannot compasse the price of Canarie or Gascoign; It mounts the Musician ’bove Eccla; It makes the Balladmaker Rime beyond Reason; It is a Repairer of a {5} decaied Colour in the face; It puts Eloquence into the Oratour; It will make the Philosopher talke profoundly, the Scholler learnedly, and the Lawyer acute and feelingly. Ale at Whitsontide, or a Whitson Church Ale, is a repairer of decayed Countrey Churches; It is a great friend to Truth; so they that drinke of it (to the purpose) will reveale all they know, be it never so secret to be kept; It is an Embleme of Justice, for it allowes, and yeelds measure; It will put Courage into a Coward, and make him swagger and fight; It is a Seale to many a good Bargaine. The Physittian will commend it; the Lawyer will defend it; It neither hurts or kils any but those that abuse it unmeasurably and beyond bearing; It doth good to as many as take it rightly; It is as good as a Paire of Spectacles to cleare the Eyesight of an old Parish Clarke; and in Conclusion, it is such a nourisher of Mankinde, that if my Mouth were as bigge as Bishopsgate, my Pen as long as a Maypole, and my Inke a flowing spring, or a standing fishpond, yet I could not with Mouth, Pen or Inke, speake or write the true worth and worthiness of Ale.” Bravo, John Taylor! He would be a bold man who could lift up his voice against our honest English nappy, after reading your vigorous lines.

It is not uninteresting to compare this sixteenth century work with a passage taken from By Lake and River, the author of which rarely loses an opportunity of eulogising beer. Anglers and many more will cordially agree with Mr. Francis Francis in his remarks. “Ah! my beloved brother of the rod,” he writes, “do you know the taste of beer—of bitter beer—cooled in the flowing river? Not you; I warrant, like the ‘Marchioness,’ hitherto you have only had ‘a sip’ occasionally—and, as Mr. Swiveller judiciously remarks, ‘it can’t be tasted in a sip.’ Take your bottle of beer, sink it deep, deep in the shady water, where the cooling springs and fishes are. Then, the day being very hot and bright, and the sun blazing on your devoted head, consider it a matter of duty to have to fish that long, wide stream (call it the Blackstone stream, if you will); and so, having endued yourself with high wading breeks, walk up to your middle, and begin hammering away with your twenty-foot flail. Fish are rising, but not at you. No, they merely come up to see how the weather looks, and what o’clock it is. So fish away; there is not above a couple of hundred yards of it, and you don’t want to throw more than about two or three-and-thirty yards at every cast. It is a mere trifle. An hour or so of good hard hammering will bring you to the end of it, and then—let me ask you avec impressement—how about that beer? Is it cool? Is it refreshing? Does it {6} gurgle, gurgle, and ‘go down glug,’ as they say in Devonshire? Is it heavenly? Is it Paradise and all the Peris to boot? Ah! if you have never tasted beer under these or similar circumstances, you have, believe me, never tasted it at all.”

A word or two now as to the distinctions between the beverages known as ale and beer. Going back to the time of the Conquest, or earlier, we find that both words were applied to the same liquor, a fermented drink made usually from malt and water, without hops. The Danes called it ale, the Anglo-Saxons beer. Later on the word beer dropped almost out of use. Meanwhile, in Germany and the Netherlands, the use of hops in brewing had been discovered; and in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the Flemings having introduced their bier into England, the word “beer” came to have in this country a distinct meaning—viz., hopped ale. The difference was quaintly explained by Andrew Boorde in his Dyetary, written about the year 1542. “Ale,” said Andrew, “is made of malte and water; and they which do put any other thynge to ale than is rehersed, except yest, barme, or godesgood, doth sofystical theyr ale. Ale for an Englysshe man is a naturall drinke. Ale must have these propertyes: it must be fresshe and cleare, it muste not be ropy nor smoky, nor it must have no weft nor tayle. Ale shuld not be dronke vnder v. dayes olde. Newe ale is vnholsome for all men. And sowre ale, and deade ale the which doth stande a tylt, is good for no man. Barly malte maketh better ale then oten malte or any other corne doth: it doth ingendre grose humoures; but yette it maketh a man stronge.”

“Bere is made of malte, of hoppes, and water; it is the naturall drynke for a Dutche man, and nowe of late dayes it is moche vsed in Englande to the detryment of many Englysshe people; specyally it kylleth them the which be troubled with the colycke, and the stone, and the strangulion; for the drynke is a colde drynke; yet it doth make a man fat, and doth inflate the bely, as it doth appere by the Dutche men’s faces and belyes. If the bere be well serued, and be fyned, and not new, it doth qualyfy heat of the liquer.”

The distinction between ale and beer as described by Boorde lasted for a hundred years or more. As hops came into general use, though malt liquors generally were now beer, the word ale was still retained, and was used whether the liquor it was intended to designate was {7} hopped or not. At the present day beer is the generic word, which includes all malt liquors; while the word ale includes all but the black or brown beers—porter and stout. The meanings of the words are, however, subject to local variations. This subject is further treated of in Chapter VII.

Our ancestors seem, indeed, almost to have revered good malt liquor. Richard Atkinson gave the following excellent advice to Leonard Lord Dacre in the year 1570: “See that ye keep a noble house for beef and beer, that thereof may be praise given to God and to your honour.”

“Wine is but single broth, ale is meat, drink and cloth,” was a proverbial saying in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and occurs in many writings, both prose and poetical. John Taylor, for instance, writes that ale is the “warmest lining of a naked man’s coat.” “Barley broth” and “oyle of barley” were very common expressions for ale. “Dagger ale” was very strong malt liquor. The word “ale-tasters” will be fully explained later on. {10}

The nearest approach in modern times to a denunciation of wine by an ale-favouring poet occurs in a few lines—by whom written we know not—cleverly satirising the introduction of cheap French wines into this country. Cheap clarets command, thanks to an eminent statesman, a considerable share of popular favour. If unadulterated, they are no doubt wholesome enough, and suitable for some specially constituted persons. Let those who like them drink them, by all means.

Among famous ale songs of the past, Jolly Good Ale and Old, which has been wrongly attributed to Bishop Still, stands pre-eminent. Of the eight double stanzas composing the song, four were incorporated in “a ryght pithy, plesaunt, and merie comedie, intytuled, Gammer Gurton’s Nedle, played on stage not longe ago, in Christe’s Colledge, in Cambridge. Made by Mr. S——, Master of Art” (1575). According to Dyer, who possessed a MS., giving the song in its complete form, “it is certainly of an earlier date,” and could not have been by Mr. Still (afterwards Bishop of Bath and Wells), the Master of Trinity College, who was probably the writer of the play. The “merrie comedie” well illustrates the difference of tone and thought which divides those days from the present, and it is a little difficult to understand how it could have been produced by the pen of a High Church dignitary. The prologue of the play is very quaint, it runs thus:―

The song, Jolly Good Ale and Old, four stanzas of which occur in the second act, is a good record of the spirit of those hard-drinking days, now passed away, in which a man who could not, or did not, consume vast quantities of liquor was looked upon as a milksop. It is given as follows in the Comedy:―

Charles Dibdin the younger has, in a couple of verses, told a very amusing little story of an old fellow who, in addition to finding that ale was meat, drink and cloth, discovered that it included friends as well—or, at any rate, when he was without ale he was without friends, which comes to much the same thing.

For the sake of contrast with the foregoing songs, if for nothing else, the following poem (save the mark!) by George Arnold, a Boston rhymster, is worthy of perusal. The “gurgle-gurgle” of the athletic salmon-fisher, described by Mr. Francis, is replaced by the “idle sipping” (fancy sipping beer!) of the beer-garden frequenter.

The new generation of American poets do not mean, it would appear, to be confined in the old metrical grooves. Very different in style are the verses written on ale by Thomas Wharton, in 1748. A Panegyric on Oxford Ale is the title of the poem, which is prefaced by the lines from Horace:―

There exist, sad to relate, persons who, with the notion of promoting temperance, would rob us of our beer. Many of these individuals may act with good motives, but they are weak, misguided bodies who, if they but devoted their energies to promoting ale-drinking as opposed to spirit-drinking, would be doing useful service to the State, for malt liquors are the true temperance drinks of the working classes. The Bill (for the encouragement of private tippling) so long sought to be introduced by the teetotal party, was cleverly hit off in Songs of the Session, published in The World some years back:―

Of course, in asserting malt liquors to be the temperance drink, or drink of the temperate, it must be understood that we refer to the ordinary ales and beers of to-day, in which the amount of alcohol is small, and which are very different from the potent liquor drank by the topers of the past, who were rightly designated malt worms.

It has been said that even pigs drank strong ale in those days, but the only evidence of the truth of that statement is the tradition that Herrick, a most charming but little read poet, succeeded in teaching a favourite pig to drink ale out of a jug. Old ale is now out of fashion, its chief strongholds being the venerable centres of education. We all know the tale of the don who, about once a week, reminded the butler of a certain understanding between them, in these words: “Mind, when I say ‘beer’—the old ale.” Ancient writers are full of allusions to the potent character of the strong ales of their day. Nor are more modern authors wanting in that respect. Peter Pindar, who wrote during the reign of George III., when ale was still of a “mightie” character, thus sings:―

Hogarth, who was perhaps the most accurate and certainly the most powerful delineator of mankind’s virtues and vices that the world has ever seen, has left us in his pictures of “Beer Street” and “Gin Lane” striking illustrations of the advantages attending the use of our national beverage, and the misery and want brought about by dram drinking. In Beer Street everybody thrives, and everything has an air of prosperity. There is one exception—the pawnbroker, gainer by the poverty of others. He, poor man, with barricaded doors and {17} propped-up walls, awaits in terror the arrival of the Sheriff’s officer, fearing only that his house may collapse meanwhile. Through a hole in the door which he is afraid to open, a potboy hands him a mug of ale, at once the cause and consolation of his woes. The bracket which supports the pawnbroker’s sign is awry, and threatens every minute to fall. Apart from this unfortunate all else flourishes. The burly butcher, seated outside the inn with no fear of the Sheriff in his heart, quaffs his pewter mug of foaming ale, and casts now and again an eye on the artist who is repainting the signboard. The sturdy smith, the drayman, the porter and the fishwife—all are well clad and prosperous. Houses are being built, others are being repaired, and health and wealth are visible on every side.

Look now at the noisome slum where the demon Gin reigns tri­um­phant. Squalor, poverty, hun­ger, wretch­ed­ness and sin are depicted on all sides. Here flourish the pawn­broker and the keeper of the gin-palace—but the picture is too speaking a one to need comment.

A medical writer of some thirty years ago says:―

“There are well-meaning persons who wish now-a-days to rob, not only the poor, but the rich man of his beer. I am content to remember that Mary, Queen of Scots, was solaced in her dreary captivity at Fotheringay by the brown beer of Burton-on-Trent; that holy Hugh {19} Latimer drank a goblet of spiced ale with his supper the night before he was burned alive; that Sir Walter Raleigh took a cool tankard with his pipe, the last pipe of tobacco, on the very morning of his execution; and that one of the prettiest ladies with whom I have the honour to be acquainted, when escorting her on an opera Saturday to the Crystal Palace I falteringly suggested chocolate, lemonade and vanilla ices for her refreshment, sternly replied, ‘Nonsense, sir! Get me a pint of stout immediately.’ If the ladies only knew how much better they would be for their beer, there would be fewer cases of consumption for quacks to demonstrate the curability of.”

The question of beer drinking as opposed to total abstinence, is one intimately connected with the welfare of the agricultural labourer. The lives of the majority of these persons are, it is to be feared, somewhat dull and cheerless. From early morn to dewy eve—work; the only prospect in old age—the workhouse. Weary in mind and body, the labourer returns to his cottage at nightfall. At supper he takes his glass of mild ale. It nourishes him, and the alcohol it contains, of so small a quantity as to be absolutely harmless, invigorates him and causes the too often miserable surroundings to appear bright and cheerful. Contentedly he smokes his pipe, chats sociably with his wife, and forgets for awhile the many long days of hard work in store for him. Soon the soporific influence of the hop begins to take effect, and the toiler retires to rest, to sleep soundly, forgetful of the cares of life.

Then there is Saturday night, when the villagers meet at the alehouse, not perhaps so much to drink as to converse, and, with church-wardens in mouth and tankard at elbow, to settle the affairs of the State. The newspaper, a week old, is produced, and one, probably the village tailor or maybe the barber, reads passages from it. “A party of fuddled rustics in a beer-shop,” exclaims the teetotaler, with a sneer. Not so; one or two may have had their pewter tankards filled more often than is prudent, but the majority will be moderate, drinking no more than is good for them. Drunkenness and crime are not the outcome of the village alehouse; for them, go to the gin-palaces of the towns. Nothing, we feel certain, more tends to keep our agricultural labourers from intemperance than the easy means of obtaining cheap but pure beer. What we may term temperance legislation (unless it be of a criminal character, punishing excess by fines) will always defeat its own object. Shut up the alehouses, Sundays or week-days, and the poorer classes at once take to dram drinking. This subject will be found fully considered in the last chapter. {20}

One does not hear much now-a-days of that gallant Knight, Sir John Barleycorn. The song writers of the past were, however, loud in his praises, and Sir John used to be as favourite a myth with the people of England as was our patron saint, St. George. Elton’s play of Paul the Poacher commences with the following charming verses:―

A whimsical old pamphlet, the writer of which must have possessed keen powers of observation, is “The Arraigning and Indicting of Sir John Barleycorn, Knight, printed for Timothy Tosspot.” Sir John is described as of noble blood, well-beloved in England, a great support to the Crown, and a maintainer of both rich and poor. The trial takes place at the sign of the “Three Loggerheads,” before Oliver {21} and Old Nick his holy father. Sir John, of course, pleads not guilty to the charges made against him, which are, in effect, that he has compassed the death of several of his Majesty’s loving subjects, and brought others to ruin. Vulcan the blacksmith, Will the weaver, and Stitch the tailor, are called by the prosecution, and depose that after being first friendly with Sir John, they quarrel with him, and in the end get knocked down, bruised, their bones broken, and their pockets picked. Mr. Wheatley, the baker, complains that, whereas he was the most esteemed by Lords, Knights and Squires, he is now supplanted by the prisoner. Sir John, being called on for his defence, asks that his brother Malt may be summoned, and indicates that the fault, if any, lies mostly at Malt’s door. Malt is thereupon summoned, and thus addresses the Court:―

“My Lords, I thank you for the liberty you now indulge me with, and think it a great happiness, since I am so strongly accused, that I have such learned judges to determine these complaints. As for my part, I will put the matter to the Bench—First, I pray you consider with yourselves, all tradesmen would live; and although Master Malt does make sometimes a cup of good liquor, and many men come to taste it, yet the fault is neither in me nor my brother John, but in such as those who make this complaint against us, as I shall make it appear to you all.

“In the first place, which of you all can say but Master Malt can make a cup of good liquor, with the help of a good brewer; and when it is made, it will be sold. I pray you which of you all can live without it? But when such as these, who complain of us, find it to be good, then they have such a greedy mind, that they think they never have enough, and this overcharge brings on the inconveniences complained of, makes them quarrelsome one with another, and abusive to their very friends, so that we are forced to lay them down to sleep. From hence it appears it is from their own greedy desires all these troubles arise, and not from wicked designs of our own.”

Court.—“Truly we cannot see that you are in the fault. Sir John Barleycorn, we will show you as much favour that, if you can bring any person of reputation to speak to your character, the court is disposed to acquit you. Bring in your evidence, and let us hear what they can say in your behalf.”

Thomas the Ploughman.—“May I be allowed to speak my thoughts freely, since I shall offer nothing but the truth?”

Court.—“Yes, thou mayest be bold to speak the truth, and no {22} more, for that is the cause we sit here for; therefore speak boldly, that we may understand thee.”

Ploughman.—“Gentlemen, Sir John is of an ancient house, and is come of a noble race; there is neither lord, knight, nor squire, but they love his company and he theirs: as long as they don’t abuse him he will abuse no man, but doth a great deal of good. In the first place, few ploughmen can live without him; for if it were not for him we should not pay our landlords their rent; and then what could such men as you do for money and clothes? Nay, your gay ladies would care but little for you if you had not your rents coming in to maintain them; and we could never pay but that Sir John Barleycorn feeds us with money; and you would not seek to take away his life? For shame! let your malice cease and pardon his life, or else we are all undone.”

Bunch the Brewer.—“Gentlemen, I beseech you, hear me. My name is Bunch, a brewer; and I believe few of you can live without a cup of good liquor, nor more than I can without the help of Sir John Barleycorn. As for my own part, I maintain a great charge and keep a great many men at work; I pay taxes forty pounds a-year to his Majesty, God bless him, and all this is maintained by the help of Sir John; then how can any man for shame seek to take away his life?”

Mistress Hostess.—“To give evidence on behalf of Sir John Barleycorn gives me pleasure, since I have an opportunity of doing justice to so honourable a person. Through him the administration receives large supplies; he likewise greatly supports the labourer, and enlivens his conversation. What pleasure could there be at a sheep-clipping without his company, or what joy at a feast without his assistance? I know him to be an honest man, and he never abused any man if they abused not him. If you put him to death all England is undone, for there is not another in the land can do as he can do, and hath done; for he can make a cripple go, the coward fight, and a soldier feel neither hunger nor cold. I beseech you, gentlemen, let him live, or else we are all undone; the nation likewise will be distressed, the labourer impoverished, and the husbandman ruined.”

Court.—“Gentlemen of the jury, you have now heard what has been offered against Sir John Barleycorn, and the evidence that has been produced in his defence. It you are of opinion that he is guilty of those wicked crimes laid to his charge, and has with malice prepense conspired and brought about the death of several of his Majesty’s loving subjects, you are then to find him guilty; but, if, on the contrary, you are of {23} opinion that he had no real intention of wickedness, and was not the immediate, but only the accidental cause of these evils laid to his charge, then, according to the statute law of this kingdom you ought to acquit him.”

Verdict—Not Guilty.

A somewhat lengthy extract has been given from the report of the trial, because the facetious little narrative contains a moral as applicable at the present time as on the day on which the worthy Knight was acquitted.

And now, dear reader, your introduction to Sir John Barleycorn being complete, it is for you, should the inclination be present, to become acquainted with all that pertains to him, from the barley-wine of the Egyptians and other nations of the far past to those excellent beverages in which the people of this country do now delight. On the way you will meet with strange things and strange people, queer customs and quaint sayings and songs; you will watch malting and brewing as it was carried on five hundred years ago; you will stand by while the Flemings, who have just come to London, brew beer with the assistance of a “wicked weed called hoppes;” meanwhile Parliament will re-enact strange sumptuary laws and order that you brew only two kinds of ale or beer; you will be at times in the bad company of dissolute alewives who will whisper sad scandals in your ear; fleeing from them, you will find yourself in a solemn place where lines on stone tell how, when he lived, he brewed good ale; then being perhaps sad at heart, you shall pass into the village ale-house and join the ploughboys in their merry chorus, or sit awhile with the roystering blades in some London tavern; later you shall see the sign and learn its signification and history, and delay a moment to read the verses over the door and admire the quaint architecture and curious carving. In the ale-house you will have tasted and drank wisely, let it be hoped, of London or Dublin black beer, of Plymouth white ale, of old Nappy and Yorkshire Stingo, and as many more as your head can stand.

Then you shall take part in ancient ceremonies—wassailing, Church ales, bride ales, and the like; the merry sheep-shearers will sing for you, and for you the villagers shall dance round the ale-stake; then the old ballad-writers will lay before you their ballads praising ale, and headed with wood-cuts, humorous, but sometimes fearful to look upon. Having rested awhile in perusing these relics of the past, the doors of John Barleycorn’s greatest palaces will fly open before you, and while exploring these wonders of the present, you will chat pleasantly with {24} their founders, Dr. Johnson joining in with ponderous remarks on the brewery of his friend Thrale. The history of porter shall then be unfolded to you, after which you shall be introduced to the college butler, who is in the very act of compounding a noble wassail-bowl, and who, good man, whispers in your willing ear instructions for the making of a score or more of ale-cups; then the old Saxon leeches and their successors shall be summoned, and, in a language strange to modern ears, they shall relate how ale and certain herbs will cure all diseases; then shall you see a curious but not a wondrous sight—water passing through holes in teetotal arguments; and lastly the great French savant shall take you into his laboratory, and shall make you see in a grain of yeast a world of wonders. Last of all we beg you to treasure up in your memory these old lines:―

ORIGIN AND ANTIQUITY OF ALE AND BEER

E must go back several thousand years into the past to trace the origin of our modern ale and beer. The ancient Egyptians, as we learn from the Book of the Dead, a treatise at least 5,000 years old, understood the manufacture of an intoxicating liquor from grain. This liquor they called hek, and under the slightly modified form hemki the name has been used in Egypt for beer until comparatively modern times. An ancient Egyptian medical manual, of about the same date as the Book of the Dead, contains frequent mention of the use of Egyptian beer in medicine, and at a period about 1,000 years later, the papyri afford conclusive evidence of the existence even in that early age, of a burning liquor question in Egypt, for it is recorded that intoxication had become so common that many of the beer shops had to be suppressed.

Herodotus, after stating that the Egyptians used “wine made from barley” because there were no vines in the country, mentions a tradition that Osiris, the Egyptian Bacchus, first taught the Egyptians how to brew, to compensate them for the natural deficiencies of their native land. Herodotus, however, was frequently imposed upon by the persons from whom he derived his narrative, and no trace of any such tradition is to be found elsewhere. Wine was undoubtedly made in Egypt two or three thousand years before his time. {26}

It is maintained by some that the Hebrew word sicera, which occurs in the Bible and is in our version translated “strong drink,” was none other than the barley-wine mentioned in Herodotus, and that the Israelites brought from Egypt the knowledge of its use. Certain it is that they understood the manufacture of sicera shortly after the exodus, for we find in Leviticus that the priests are forbidden to drink wine or “strong drink” before they go into the tabernacle, and in the Book of Numbers the Nazarenes are required not only to abstain from wine and “strong drink,” but even from vinegar made from either; and in all the passages where the word occurs it is formally distinguished from wine. It may be mentioned in passing, that this word sicera has been regarded as being the equivalent of the word cider. The passage in Numbers is translated in Tyndale’s version, “They shall drink neither wyn ne sydyr,” and it is this rendering that has earned for Tyndale’s translation the name of the cider Bible.

It seems highly probable that the word sicera signified any intoxicating liquor other than wine, whether made from corn, honey or fruit.

In support of the theory that beer was known amongst the Jews, may be mentioned the Rabbinical tradition that the Jews were free from leprosy during the captivity in Babylon by reason of their drinking “siceram veprium, id est, ex lupulis confectam,” or sicera made with hops, which one would think could be no other than bitter beer.

Speaking of this old Egyptian barley-wine, Aeschylus seems to imply that it was not held in very high esteem, for he says that only the women-kind would drink it.5 Evidently the phrase, “to be learned in all the learning of the Egyptians,” had no reference to a competent knowledge of brewing. Before leaving the land of the Pharaoh, it may be mentioned that in that country the labourers still drink a kind of beer extracted from unmalted barley. A traveller in Egypt some years ago recorded in one of the London daily papers that his crew on the Nile made an intoxicating liquor from the fermentation of bread in water; he says that it was called boozer, but whether by himself or crew is not clear. {27}

A goodly number of instances may be found in various old Greek writers of the mention of barley-wine under the various terms of κρίθινον πεπωκότες οινον,6 ἐκ κριθῶν μεθυ, βρῦτον ἐκ τῶν κριθῶν, but it does not appear that beer was ever a popular beverage in Hellas. Further north, the Thracians, as Archilochus tells, brewed and drank a good deal of beer.

Among the Greek writers, Xenophon gives the most interesting and complete account of beer in the year 401 B.C. In describing the retreat of the Ten Thousand, he tells how, on approaching a certain village in Armenia which had been allotted to him, he selected the most active of his troops, and making a sudden descent upon the place captured all the villagers and their headman. One man alone escaped—the bridegroom of the headman’s daughter, who had been married nine days, and was gone out to hunt hares. The snow was six feet deep at the time. Xenophon goes on to describe the dwellings of this singular people. Their houses were under ground, the entrance like that of a well, but wide below. There were entrances dug out for the cattle, but the men used to get down by a ladder. And in the houses were goats, sheep, oxen, fowls and their young ones, and all the animals were fed inside with fodder. And there was wheat, and barley, and pulse, and barley-wine (οἶνος κρίθινος) in bowls. And the malt, too, itself was in the bowl, and level with the brim. And reeds lay in it, some long, some short, with no joints, and when anyone was thirsty he had to take a reed in his hand and suck. The liquor was very strong, says Xenophon, unless one poured water into it, and the drink was pleasant to one accustomed to it. And whenever anyone in friendliness wished to drink to his comrade, he used to drag him to the bowl, where he must stoop down and drink, gulping it down like an ox. The inhabitants of the Khanns district of Armenia, through which Xenophon’s world-famed march was made, still pursue much the same life as they did more than two thousand years ago. They live in these curious subterranean dwellings with all their live stock about them, but, alas! modern travellers aver that they have lost the art of making barley-wine.

Enough has been said as to the use of beer among Eastern nations to disprove the theory of the old author of the Haven of Health, who asserts, quoting “Master Eliote” as his authority, that ale was never used as a common drink in any other country than in “England, Scotland, Ireland, and Poile.” {28}

Ale or beer was in common use in Germany in the time of Tacitus, and Pliny, who may have tasted beer while serving in the army in Germany, says, “All the nations who inhabit the west of Europe have a liquor with which they intoxicate themselves, made of corn and water (fruge madida). The manner of making this liquor is somewhat different in Gaul, Spain, and other countries, and it is called by various names; but its nature and properties are everywhere the same. The people of Spain in particular brew this liquor so well that it will keep good for a long time. So exquisite is the ingenuity of mankind in gratifying their vicious appetites, that they have thus invented a method of making water itself intoxicate.” Among the many various kinds of drink so made were zythum, cœlia, ceria, Cereris vinum, curmi, and cerevisia. All these names, except zythum, are probably merely local variations of one word, whose British representative may be found in the Welsh cwrw.

Turning to the earliest records of the use of malt liquors in this country, we find that, according to Diodorus Siculus, the Britons made use of a very simple diet which consisted chiefly of milk and venison. Their usual drink was water; but upon festive occasions they drank a kind of fermented liquor, made of barley, honey, or apples, and were very quarrelsome in their cups. Dioscorides wrote in the first century that the Britons, instead of wine, use “curmi,” a liquor made from barley. Pytheas (300 B.C.) said a fermented grain liquor was made in Thule.

The drinks in use in this island at the time of its conquest by the Romans seem to have been metheglin, cider, and ale. Metheglin, or mead, was probably the most ancient and universally used of all intoxicating drinks among European nations. Cider is in all probability the next in order of antiquity of the drinks in use amongst our Celtic predecessors. It was made from wild apples, but its use was probably not so wide-spread as that of either mead or ale.

The two drinks, mead and cider, are appropriate to nations who have made but slight advances on the path of civilisation. Tribes of nomads, or of hunters, would find the wherewithal for their manufacture—the honey in the hollow tree, the crabs growing wild in the woods. The manufacture of ale, however, indicates another step forward; it implies the settlement in particular districts, and the knowledge and practice of agriculture. It is, therefore, not surprising to find that the Celtic inhabitants of the midland and northern parts of this country, at the time of the first Roman attack, knew no drink but mead and cider; while, in the southern districts, where contact with {29} the outer world had brought about a somewhat more advanced civilisation and a more settled mode of life, agriculture was practised, and cerevisia, or ale, was added to the list of beverages.

Given below is a metrical version of the origin of ale. It is put in this place between the account of the use of ale by the Britons and its use by the Saxons, because our anonymous poet does not seem to have quite made up his mind whether he is recording a British or a Saxon myth. The name of the king would seem to point to a British origin, whilst some of the gods on whom he calls are Teutonic.

In the sister Island are to be found very early references to ale. The Senchus Mor, which contains some of the oldest and most important of the ancient laws of Ireland, has the following passages in which mention of this drink occurs:―

“What is a human banquet? The banquet of each one’s feasting-house to his chief according to his due (i.e., the chief’s), to which his (i.e., the tenant’s) deserts entitle him; viz., a supper with ale, a feast without ale, a feast by day. The feast without ale is divided; it is distributed according to dignity; the feeding of the assembly of the forces of a territory, assembled for the purpose of demanding proof and law, and answering to illegality. Suppers with ale, feasts without ale, are the fellowship of the Feini.” It is difficult to understand the ideas contained in these old Erse laws and customs, but the main thing for the present purpose is the evidence they give that ale was known and commonly used in Ireland as early as the fifth century.7

From the Brehon law tracts it may be gathered that the privileges of an Irish king included the right to have his ale supplied him with food;8 he was also to have a brave army and an inebriating ale-house. The Irish chief is always to have two casks in his house, one of ale, another of milk; he should also have three sacks—a sack of malt, a sack of salt, and a sack of charcoal.

Wales was also to some extent an ale-producing country, and we find in Anglo-Saxon times Welsh ale frequently alluded to as a luxury. When Offa renders the lands at Westbury and Stanbury to the church of Worcester, he accepts at Westbury these services: 2 tunne full of clear Ale, and a cumbe (16 quarts) full of smaller Ale, and a cumbe of Welsh Ale, besides other services. There was a payment to the said church also out of the lands at Breodune of 3 cuppes full of Ale, 111 dolea Brytannicæ cervissiæ (i.e., casks of British Ale), and 3 hogsheads of {31} Welsh Ale, quorum unum fit melle dulcoratum (i.e., of which one was to be sweetened with honey). Henry, in his History of England, in treating of the drinks used in England and Wales during five centuries before the Norman Conquest, remarks on the rarity of the use of ale in Wales at that time. “Mead,” he says, “was still one of their favourite liquors, and bore a high price; for a cask of mead, by the laws of Wales, was valued at 120 pence, equal in quantity of silver to thirty shillings of our present money, and in efficacy to fifteen pounds. The dimensions of a cask of mead must be nine palms in height, and so capacious as to serve the King and one of his counsellors for a bathing tub.” By another law its diameter is fixed at eighteen palms. The Welsh had also two kinds of ale, called common ale and spiced ale, and their value was thus ascertained by law—“If a farmer hath no mead (to pay part of his rent) he shall pay two casks of spiced ale, or four casks of common ale for one cask of mead.” By the same law, a cask of spiced ale, nine palms in height and eighteen palms in diameter, was valued at a sum equal in efficacy to seven pounds ten shillings of our present money; and a cask of common ale, of the same dimensions, at a sum equal to three pounds fifteen shillings. This is a sufficient proof that even common ale at this period was an article of luxury among the Welsh which could only be obtained by the great and opulent. Wine seems to have been quite unknown even to the Kings of Wales at this period, as it is not so much as once mentioned in their laws; though Giraldus Cambrensis, who flourished about a century after the Conquest, acquaints us that there was a vineyard in his time, at Maenarper, near Pembroke, in South Wales.

Before leaving the subject of the British use of ale, it will perhaps amuse some of our readers to find that the very name of Britain has been derived by some from the word βρῡτον, the Greek for beer. The following extract from Hearne’s Discourses is a good instance of that reckless ingenuity in guessing derivations, for which our older school of philologists was ever so justly famed:—“There is one thing,” he says, “which upon this occasion the antiquaries should have observed, and that is our Mault Liquor, called βρῡτον in Athenæus. Which being so, it is humbly offered to the consideration of more judicious persons whether our Britannia might not be denominated from βρῡτον, the whole nation being famous for such sort of drink. ’Tis true, Athenæus does not mention the Britains among those that drunk mault drink; and the reason is, because he had not met with any writer that had {32} celebrated them upon that account, whereas the others that he mentions to drink it were put down in his Authors. Nor will it seem a wonder, that even those people he speaks of were not called Britaines from the said liquor, since it was not their constant and common drink, but was only used by them upon occasion, whereas it was always made use of in Britain, and it was looked upon as peculiar to this Island, and other liquors were esteemed as foreign, and not so agreeable to the nature of the country. And I have some reason to think that those few other people that drunk it abroad did it only in imitation of the Britains, though we have no records remaining upon which to ground this opinion.”

It is rather unfortunate that, in the cause of science, our author did not inform us what that “some reason to think” of his in fact was. However, let us honour his patriotism if we may not his learning.

It would appear that ale and beer were different words signifying the same thing, ale being the Saxon ealu and Danish öl, probably connected with our word oil, and beer being the Saxon beor. Horne Tooke, in his Diversions of Purley, says that “ale” is derived from a Saxon verb ælan, which signifies to inflame.

The word “beer” has been the occasion of some ingenuity and not a little diversity of opinion among the philologists. Goldast derived it a pyris, because (he asserts) beer was first made from pears; Vossius from the Latin bibere, to drink, thus: Bibere, Biber and (extrito b) Bier; Somner from the Hebrew Bar, corn. Probably the true derivation is that which connects the word with the root of the verb, to brew. However this may be, the connection of the word barley with the word beere—denoting a coarse kind of barley—is unmistakeable. Beer was originally used to denote the beverage and also the plant from which it was brewed. Beere or bigge is still to be found growing in some parts of Scotland and Ireland, but in England it has given place to the more refined barley (i.e., beer-lec or beer plant).

The attempt to connect the word “yule” with “ale” is probably fanciful, and may have originated from the use of the word “ale” as denoting not only the liquor, but also any festival at which it formed the principal beverage (e.g. the Whitsun Ale). Yule or Jule is probably derived, along with the festival it represents, from the Celts. It was a feast in honour of the sun, the Celtic name for which was heol or houl and was designed to celebrate the time when the Sun-god, after sinking to his lowest point in the heavens in mid-winter, begins again to ascend the sky, ushering in a period of warmth and plenty. When the Saxons {33} were converted to Christianity, their teachers, instead of entirely doing away with the older forms of religion, allowed them to remain, adapting them to the new faith. This was very usual in early days of Christianity, and thus we find the heathen “Yule” merged in the great Christian festival of Christmas.

The very ancient Anglo-Saxon poem entitled Beowulf, a poem which may be said to be the earliest considerable fragment of our language now extant, shows that ale was the chief drink amongst our Anglo-Saxon ancestors in the far-off days, before they had seized upon this land of England. It contains a mythological account of the rescue by the hero Beowulf of his friends from the Grendel, a monster who was constantly slaughtering and carrying some of them away. The feast is thus described: “Then was for the sons of the Geats, altogether, a bench cleared in the beer-hall; there the bold in spirit went to sit; the thane observed his office, he that in his hand bare the twisted ale-cup; he poured the bright sweet liquor.” Further on, the Danish queen comes in to greet the victors. “There was laughter of heroes, the noise was modulated, words were winsome; Wealtheow, Hrothgar’s queen, went forth; mindful of their races, she, hung round with gold, greeted the men in the hall; and the freeborn lady gave the cup first to the prince of the East Danes; she bade him be blithe at the service of beer, dear to his people. He, the king, proud of victory, joyfully received the feast and hall-cup . . .”

That it was customary among our ancestors for the lady of the house herself to fill the guests’ cups after dinner, may be gathered from the poem called the Geste of Kyng Horn, which in its present form is of thirteenth century date, but is probably founded upon a much earlier work. The poem thus describes Rymenhild, the queen and wife of King Horn, performing this duty:―

These lines also show that ale and beer were used at that time as interchangeable words.

Our Saxon ancestors seem to have made use of several kinds of beverage; they had wine and mead, cider, which they called æppelwin, and piment, which was a compound of wine, honey, and spices. Ale and beer, however, seem, to use the quaint words of old Harrison, to have “borne the brunt in drincking,” and to have formed the national beverage of the English people from the earliest times to the present day. Ale, honest English ale, was the general drink, and wine was a luxury of the rich, as may be gathered from the old Anglo-Saxon dialogue, entitled Alfric’s Colloquy, in which a lad, on being asked what his drink is, replies, “Ale, if I have it, water, if I have it not.” To the question why he does not drink wine his answer is, “I am not so rich that I can buy me wine; and wine is not the drink of children or the weak-minded, but of the elders and the wise.”

The Exeter Book, which contains a collection of Anglo-Saxon songs and poems, and was presented to the church at Exeter by Bishop Leofric in the eleventh century, contains one of those curious rhyming riddles so popular among the Saxons, which were known as Symposii Ænigmata. It is as follows:―

Those who remember the more elaborate legend of John Barleycorn will not have far to seek for the solution of this somewhat ponderous riddle.

The Anglo-Saxons, before their conversion to Christianity, believed that some of the chief blessings to be enjoyed by departed heroes were the frequent and copious draughts of ale served round to them in the halls of Odin. Even after the spread of Christianity had dispelled this heathen notion, all the evidence available seems to point rather to an enlarged than a diminished consumption of malt liquors. Whether our forefathers, practically-minded like their descendants, resolved to make up here upon earth for the loss of the expected joys of which their new creed had robbed them, it is impossible at this distance of time to determine; but certain it is that the popularity of our national beverage has gone on increasing from that day to this.

In these early days rents were not infrequently paid in ale. In 852 the Abbot of Medeshampstede (Peterborough) let certain lands at Sempringham to one Wulfred, on this condition, amongst others, that he should each year deliver to the minster two tuns of pure ale and ten mittans (measures) of Welsh ale. The ale-gafol mentioned in the laws of Ine was a tribute or rent of ale paid by the tenant to the lord of the manor. By an ancient charter granted in the time of King Alfred, the tenants of Hysseburne, amongst other services, rendered six church-mittans of ale.

Ale was also in olden days frequently liable to the payment of a toll (tollester) to the lord of the manor. In a Gloucestershire manor it was customary for a tenant holding in villeinage to pay as toll to the lord gallons of ale, whenever he brewed ale to sell. At Fiskerton, in Notts, if {36} an ale-wife brews ale to sell she is to satisfy the lord for tollester. In the manor of Tidenham, in Saxon times the villein is to pay to the lord at the Martinmass six sesters of malt; and in the same manor, in the reign of Edward I., we find the rent changed into a toll, the tenant at the later period being bound to render to the lord 8 gallons of beer at every brewing.

Similarly, wages were in some manors paid in kind. At Brissingham, Norfolk, the tenants, amongst other services, might perform 125 ale-beeves in the year, i.e., carting-days, on which attendance was not compulsory, but on which the tenants, if they did attend, were entitled to bread and ale in lieu of wages. The word “bever” still occurs in some places, denoting a harvest-man’s drink between breakfast and dinner.

The Saxons and Danes were of a social disposition, and delighted in forming themselves into fraternities or guilds. An important feature of these institutions was the meeting for convivial purposes, and their object was to promote good fellowship among the members. The laws for the regulation of some of these bodies are still in existence, and it seems were enforced by fines of honey, or malt, to be used in the making of mead or ale for the use of the members of the confraternity. It seems that both clergy and laity were members of certain of the guilds, at any rate at one period of their history, and allusion is probably made to these mixed fraternities in the Canons of Archbishop Walter, A.D. 1200, in which he directs “that clerks go not to taverns and drinking bouts, for from thence come quarrels, and then laymen beat clergymen, and fall under the Canon.”

During the Middle Ages ale was the usual drink of all classes of Englishmen, and the wines of France were a luxury, in general only consumed by the upper classes. In France, however, wine was the common drink, and ale a luxury. William Fitz-Stephen, in his Life of Thomas à Becket, states that when the latter went on an embassy to France, he took with him two waggons laden with beer in iron-bound casks, as a present to the French, “who admire that kind of drink, for it is wholesome, clear, of the colour of wine, and of a better taste.”

As an instance of the fame which English ale had attained abroad in the twelfth century, may be cited the reply of Pope Innocent III. to those who were arguing before him the case of the Bishop of Worcester’s claims against the Abbey of Evesham. “Holy father,” said they, “we have learnt in the schools, and this is the opinion of our masters, that there is no prescription against the rights of bishops.” His Holiness’s reply was blunt and somewhat personal: “Certainly, both you and your masters had drunk too much English ale when you learnt this.” {37}

A curious extract may here be added as indicative of the fame of English ale amongst foreigners in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. It is taken from a work entitled “A Relation; or rather a true account of the Island of England, A.D. 1500, translated from the Italian by C. A. Sneyd.” “The deficiency of wine, however,” says our author, “is amply supplied by the abundance of ale and beer, to the use of which these people have become so habituated, that at an entertainment where there is plenty of wine, they will drink them in preference to it, and in great quantities. Like discreet people, however, they do not offer them to Italians, unless they should ask for them, and they think that no greater honour can be conferred, or received, than to invite others to eat with them, or be invited themselves; and they would sooner give five or six ducats to provide an entertainment for a person, than a groat to assist him in any distress. They are not without vines; and I have eaten grapes from one, and wine might be made in Southern parts, but it would probably be harsh. The natural deficiency of the country is supplied by a great quantity of excellent wines from Candia, Germany, France, and Spain; besides which, the common people make two beverages from Wheat, Barley, and Oats, one of which is called beer, and the other Ale; and these liquors are much liked by them, nor are they disliked by foreigners, after they have drank them four or six times; they are most agreeable to the palate, when a person is by some chance rather heated.”

The regulations of the religious houses nearly always make reference to ale; and it may be inferred from the evidence we possess, that the holy fathers, who were always strong sticklers for the rights and privileges of their order, would brook no interference either with the quantity or quality of their liquor. In the Institutes of the Abbey of Evesham, drawn up by Abbot Randulf about the year 1223, the directions as to the diet of the inmates of the Abbey, are of great particularity. The Prior is to have one measure of ale at supper (except when he shall sup with the Abbot). Each of the fraternity shall every day receive two measures of ale, each of which shall contain two pittances, of which pittances six make up a “sextarium regis.” In the same rules it is laid down that the monks are to have “two semes of beans from Huniburne, to make puddings throughout all Lent.” Bean-pudding seems indeed a mortification of the flesh! Further on we find: “On every day every two brethren shall have one measure of ale from the cellar, but after being let blood they shall have one for dinner and another for supper. The servant who shall let the monks’ blood shall have bread and ale {38} from the cellar, if he have blooded more than one.” A further account of the monks as brewers will be found in the succeeding chapter.

The Proverbs of Hendyng (thirteenth century) give good advice as of the duties of charity and hospitality:―

In the fourteenth century taxes seem to have been occasionally levied on ale for certain specific purposes. In 1363 the inhabitants of Abbeville were granted a tax on ale for the purpose of repairing their fortifications. For each lotus of ale of gramville the tax was one penny Parisien; for each lotus of god-ale the tax was ½d. (Rhymer 2. 712.).

In a curious old poem of the early part of the fourteenth century entitled De Baptismo, by William of Shoreham, it appears to the poet, necessary to lay down that ale must not be used for purposes of baptism, but “kende water” (i.e., natural water) only. The verse is as follows:―

This old English requires some little explanation, and may be rendered thus:—Therefore man may not renounce (his sins) through christening in wine, in cider, nor in perry, nor in anything that never was water, nor yet in ale, for though this (i.e., ale) was water first, it is acounted water no longer. {39}

Whilst Christmas, as far as eating was concerned, always had its specialities, its liquor carte seems even in the thirteenth century to have been of a very varied character. An old carolist of the period thus sings (we follow Douce’s translation):―

Piers the Ploughman, a poem by William Longland, written towards the close of the fourteenth century, contains a curious confession of the tricks played by the ale-sellers upon their customers:―

This, being interpreted, in modern English would read somewhat as follows:—I bought her barley they brew it to sell; Peny ale (i.e., ale at a penny a gallon) and small perry she poured together for labourers and poor folk that live by themselves. The best lay in the bed chamber by the wall, whoso drank thereof bought it (i.e., the penny ale) by the sample (i.e., of the best) a gallon for a groat, God knows, no less, when it came in by cupfulls; such craft I used.

The frequent directions to the monks and clergy to abstain from taverns, from drinking bouts and revels, all point to the necessity then felt of tightening the bonds of church discipline, and show the laxity that had prevailed.

John Taylor, the Water Poet, frequently selected ale as his theme, and, when once mounted on his favourite hobby, soon travelled into such realms of marvellous history and miraculous philology, that it almost takes away one’s breath to follow him. The chief work in which he glorifies our English Ale has for its full title,

After speaking of cider, perry, &c., the author goes on to speak of ale, which “hath been and now is used by the English, as well since the Conquest as in the times of the Brittains, Saxons, and Danes (for the former-recited drinks are to this day confined to the Principality) so as we enjoy them onely by a Statute called the courtesie of Wales. And to perfect any discourse in this I shall onely induce them into two heads, viz., the unparalleled liquor called Ale with his abstract Beere; whose antiquity amongst a sort of Northerne pated fellowes, is, if not altogether contemptible, of very little esteeme; this humour served the scurrilous pen of a shamelesse writer16 in the raigne of King Henry the third; detractingly to inveigh against this unequal’d liquor. Thus

“Of all the Authors that I have ever yet read, this is the only one that hath attempted to brand the glorious splendour of that Ale-beloved decoction; but observe this fellow, by the perpetuall use of water (which was his accustomed drinke) he fell into such convulsions and lethargick diseases, that he remained in opinion a dead man; however, the knowing Physicians of that time, by the frequent and inward application of Ale, not onely recouvered him to his pristine state of health, but also enabled him in body and braine for the future, that he became famous in his writings, which for the most part were afterwards spent with most Aleoquent and Alaborate commendation of that admired and most superexcellent Imbrewage.”

“Some there are,” he says, “that affirme that Ale was first invened by Alexander the Great, and that in his conquests this liquor did infuse such vigour and valour into his souldiers. Others say that famous Physician of Piemont (named Don Alexis) was the founder of it. But it is knowne that it was of that singular use in the time of the Saxons that none were allowed to brewe it but such whose places and qualities were most Eminent, insomuch that we finde that one of them had the credit to give the name of a Saxon Prince, who in honour of that rare quality, he called Alle. Some aleadge that it being our drinke when our land was called Albion, that it had the name of the countrey; Twiscus in his Euphorbinum will have it from Albanta or Epirus, Wolfgang Plashendorph of Gustenburg, saies that Alecto (one of the three furies) gave the receipt of it to Albumazar, a Magician, and he (having Aliance {43} with Aladine, the Soldan at Aleppo) first brew’d it there, whereto may be Aleuded, the story how Alphonsus of Scicily, sent it from thence to the battell of Alcazar. My Authour is of Anaxagoras’ opinion, that Ale is to be held in high price for the nutritive substance that it is indued withall, and how precious a nurse it is in generall to Mankinde.

“It is true that the overmuch taking of it doth so much exhilerate the spirits, that a man is not improperly said to be in the Aletitude (observe the word, I pray you, and all the words before or after for you shall find their first syllable to be Ale), and some writers are of opinion that the Turkish Alcoran was invented by Mahomet, out of such furious raptures as Ale inspired him withall; some affirme Bacchus (Al’as Liber Pater) was the first Brewer of it, among the Indians, who being a stranger to them they nam’d it Ale, as brought by an Alien: in a word, Somnus altus signifies dead sleepe: Quies alta, Great rest; Altus and Alta, noble and excellent: It is (for the most part) extracted out of the spirit of a Graine called Barley, which was of that estimation amongest the ancient Galles that their Prophets (whom they called Bards) used it in their most important prophesies and ceremonies: This Graine, after it had beene watered and dryed, was at first ground in a Mill in the island of Malta, from whence it is supposed to gaine the name of Malt; but I take it more proper from the word Malleolus, which signifies a Hammer or Maule, for Hanniball (that great Carthaginian Captaine) in his sixteene yeeres warres against the Romans, was called the Maule of Italie, for it is conjectured that he victoriously Mauld them by reason that his army was daily refreshed with the Spiritefull Elixar of Mault.

“It holds very significant to compare a man in the Aletitude to be in a planetarie height, for in a Planet, the Altitude is his motion in which he is carried from the lowest place of Heaven or from the Center of the Earth, into the most highest place, or unto the top of his circle, and then it is said to be in Apogee, that is the most Transcendant part of all, so the Sublunarie of a Stupified Spirit, being elevated by the efficacious vigour of this uncontrolleable vertue, renders him most capable for high actions.”

After much more in the same vein, sufficient to astonish the most reckless of modern punsters, our author winds up his account of the antiquity of ale as follows:―

“I will therefore shut up with that admirable conclusion insisted upon in our time by a discreet Gentleman in a Solemne Assembly, who by a Politick observation, very aptly compares Ale and Cakes with Wine and {44} Waters, neither doth he hold it fit that it should stand in competition with the meanest wines, but with that most excellent composition which the Prince of Physicians Hippocrases had so ingeniously compounded for the preservation of Mankinde, and which (to this day) speakes the Author by the name of Hippocras. So that you see for Antiquity—Ale was famous amongst the Troians, Brittaines, Romans, Saxons, Normans, Englishmen, Welch, besides in Scotland, from the highest and Noblest Palace to the poorest and meanest Cottage.”

HOME-BREWED ALES. — OLD RECEIPTS. — HISTORICAL FACTS. — DEAN SWIFT ON HOME-BREW. — CHRISTOPHER NORTH’S BREW-HOUSE.

OGARTH’S Farmer’s Return re­pre­sents the worthy man just come in from his mor­ning round or from dis­tant mar­ket town. As he rests awhile in the farm­house kitch­en he draws sweet solace from the pipe brought him by his daugh­ter, while he eyes with keen ex­pec­tance the jug of foam­ing home-brew which his bux­om wife, in her hur­ry to serve her lord, is spil­ling on the tiled floor. These two old friends, firm sup­por­ters of each other, the farmers and home-brewed ale, have almost parted com­pany. Home-brew, indeed, has become, in some places, an extinct and almost forgotten beverage. It is a curious fact, however, that between the years 1884 and 1886 there was a slight increase in the number of persons brewing their own ale. {46}

The late Mr. Wm. Cobbett, writing in 1821 on the subject of brewing, says, “To show Englishmen, forty years ago, that it was good for them to brew beer in their houses, would have been as impertinent as gravely to insist that they ought to endeavour not to lose their breath; for in those times, to have a house and not to brew was a rare thing indeed. Mr. Ellman, an old man and a large farmer in Sussex, has recently given, in evidence before a Committee of the House of Commons, this fact: that forty years ago there was not a labourer in his parish that did not brew his own beer; and that now there is not one that does it, except by chance the malt be given him.”

The decadence of the art of domestic brewing is, for some reasons, a matter for regret. The causes are not far to seek. The improved machinery of the modern brewer, which enables him to make an uniformly excellent beer, and to sell it at a low price; and the railways which now traverse every part of the country, carrying his single, double, or treble X, as the case may be, to places where half a century back no one dreamt of purchasing ale for home consumption—to these great changes is undoubtedly due the partial downfall of home-brew that has taken {47} place. Not only has the practice of domestic brewing much declined, but from the same causes there has been of late years an extraordinary and lamentable decrease in the numbers of small country brewers.

Although the name of home-brew carries with it many old associations and sentiments which we abandon with regret—memories of bright March beer and mellow old October, of snug ingle-nooks and raftered ceilings, and of kind, if homely, welcome—we cannot but admit, as on a hot day we drain our tankard of Burton bitter, or of world-famed London stout, that life has still its compensations.

“To make barley-water was an invention which found out itself with little more than the joyning the ingredients together,” said old Fuller, in his Worthies of England; “but to make mault for drinke, was a master-piece indeed.” This old writer would seem to give the maltster more credit than the brewer. In his day, however, the distinction between the two was slight, for nearly every country gentleman or farmer was both his own brewer and his own maltster.

In 1610, the justices of Rutland, in settling the rate of domestic servants’ wages, adjudged that a chief woman, who could bake and brew and make malt, should have the sum of 24s. 8d. by the year; while a second best, who could brew but not malt, was to have 23s. 4d.

The earliest connected account of domestic malting and brewing which we have been able to find, occurs in a poetical work of the thirteenth century, called the Treatise of Walter de Biblesworth. The treatise deals with most matters of domestic concern and every-day life, and the passage in which the malting of barley and the brewing of ale are described, is so curious that it is given below in full length from the text to be found in National Antiquities, vol. i. (priv. pub. Th. Wright, Ed.).

It is believed that no translation of this curious old poem has been published, and a rendering is accordingly added in which literal accuracy rather than poetical elegance has been aimed at.

As everybody knows, the monks of old were famous for their home-brewed ales, and the brewer and cellarer, whether in mitred abbey or in the less dis­tin­guished re­li­gious houses, were of­ficials of con­sid­er­able im­por­tance. The of­fice of cel­lar­er was one held in especial estimation. An old glossary describes his position in the monastery as follows:—“Pater debet esse totius con­gre­ga­tion­is,” and in the priory of St. Swithin at Winchester special prayers were offered up for this func­tion­ary. Such a person is depicted on this page. The monk whose anxious eye proclaims the sad fact that in tasting the liquor entrusted to his charge he is exceeding his duty, is a cellarer who evidently makes the most of his opportunities. The drawing is taken from a manuscript in the Arundel collection.

Some curious entries relating to home-brew are to be found in the registry of the priory of Worcester, A.D. 1240. At each brewing “VIII. cronn: de greu and x quarteria de meis” were used; which probably signifies eight cronns or four quarters of growte (here meaning ground malt), and ten quarters of mixed barley and oat malt. A long list then follows of the allowances of beer amongst the different officials of the house. The beer was of three different kinds, prima or melior, secunda, and tertia. The cellarer is to have one measure of prime and one of second. In the brewhouse four measures of the prime are to be distributed, and two measures on the day on which the ale is to be moved. The servant of the church is to have the holy-water bucket full of “mixta,” i.e., part prime and part second, or, it may be, a mixture of all three sorts. This “mixta” seems to have been an anticipation of the “half-and-half” and “three threads” of more modern times. Each of those who help to carry the ale are to have two measures of the first and second mixed, and so the list proceeds through all the officers and servants of the priory. Ale, indeed, seems to have been their chief drink, and even the invalid (potionandus) about to undergo a course of physicking was allowed his measure of ale. Our doubts as to the wisdom of this dieting hardly require the confirmation they receive from the further direction that he was to have pork, fowl with stuffing, cheese, and eggs.

Sometimes the records tell sad tales of the poor monks being robbed of their beer by reason of the malt failing.

This misfortune is recorded in the annals of Dunstable as having happened in 1262. The annalist ruefully mentions that “in this year, about the Feast of John the Baptist, our ale failed.” Very soon after this, however, they made provision for the deficiency by purchasing from H. Chadde £20 worth of malt; the quantity is not mentioned, but at the rates of the day it would no doubt considerably exceed 100 quarters, so that for some time the monks could have known no want. In 1274 the same disaster occurred:—“At the Feast of Pentecost our malt failed.” This time the holy fathers were equal to the occasion. “We drank,” so run the annals, “five casks of wine, and it did us much good.” {52}

The crimes and misdeeds of Roger Noreys, the wicked abbot of Evesham at the end of the twelfth century, seem to have culminated when he not only called the monks “puppies, vassals, and ribalds,” but, adding injury to insult, compelled them to live for many days on hard bread and “ale little differing from water.” This was too much, and the monks petitioned the archbishop against such ill-treatment. The abbot, it may be remarked, appears from the records of the House to have taken very good care of himself, though he treated the monks so ill, and it might have been said of him as it was of another ecclesiastic whose name, unfortunately, has not accompanied the verse:―

John of Brokehampton, who became abbot of Evesham in 1282, had himself filled the office of cellarer, and amongst many other benefits conferred by him upon the House during his abbacy, he built a bakehouse and a brewhouse “not only strongly but sumptuously.”

On certain special days set apart for “doing the great O,”27 which was a facetious way of saying that they were holidays when nothing was done, a more liberal allowance of ale was made, and on the occasion of the election of a Canon for St. Paul’s, foreign wine and other delicacies were added to the feast.

Some slight idea of a monastic feast in the thirteenth century may be gathered from the accompanying illustration. The presence of women is significant, and the quaint spit, and the round-bottomed glass which one of the monks holds in his hand and which cannot be set down until empty, are noteworthy.

What a gentleman’s cellar ought to contain is thus described by Alexander Neckam, a twelfth-century writer:—“In promptuario sive in celario,” he writes, “sunt cadi, utres,28 dolea, ciphi,29 cophini, . . . vina, scicera, cerevicia, sive celia, mustum, claretum, nectar,30 medo {53} sive ydromellum,31

piretum, vinum rosetum, vinum feretum, vinum falernum, vinum girofilatum.” Some old scribe has noted this work in the same way as the annotator of the Treatise of Walter de Biblesworth, and taking up the hints he has given, the passage may be translated:—“In the cellar are barrels, leather bottles or wine skins, tuns, beakers, baskets, . . . wines, cyder, ale, new wine, claret, piment, meed or ydromellum, perry, Mount Rose wine, Falernian, garihofilac, &c. . . .” Not a bad assortment of liquors for an Early Englishman! Our cut, taken from the Roxburghe ballads, represents a well-stocked cellar of the olden times.

The requisites of a brewhouse of the fourteenth or fifteenth century are described in a Latin-English Vocabulary of the period:―

That graphic old writer, Harrison, in his Preface to Hol­lin­shed’s Chron­i­cles, 1587, gives a cap­i­tal de­scrip­tion of home-brewing as it was carried on at the end of the six­teenth cen­tury; and “once in a moneth prac­tised by my wife,” as he informs us.

It may be remarked incidentally, that brewing seems to have usually fallen to the share of the housewife, whose duties in this respect are indicated in the old Durham rhyme:―

To return to old Harrison and his home-brew. “Nevertheless,” he says, “sith I have taken occasion to speake of bruing, I will exemplifie in such a proportion as I am best skilled in, bicause it is the usuall rate for mine owne familie, and once in a moneth practised by my wife and hir maid servants, who proceed withall after this maner, as she hath oft informed me. Having therefore groond eight bushels of good malt upon our querne, where the toll is saved, she addeth unto it half a bushel of wheat meale, and so much of otes small groond, and so tempereth or mixeth them with the malt, that you cannot easily discerne the one from the other, otherwise these later would clunter, fall into lumps, and thereby become unprofitable. The first liquor which is full {55} eightie gallons according to the proportion of our furnace, she maketh boiling hot, and then powreth it softlie into the malt, where it resteth (but without stirring) untill hir second liquor be almost ready to boile. This doone she letteth hir mash run till the malt be left without liquor, or at the leastwise the greater part of the moisture, which she perceiveth by the staie and softe issue thereof, and by this time hir second liquor in the furnace is ready to seeth, which is put also to the malt as the first woort also againe into the furnace, whereunto she addeth two pounds of the best English hops, and so letteth them seeth together by the space of two hours in summer, or an houre and a halfe in winter, whereby it getteth an excellent colour and continuance without impeachment, or anie superfluous tartnesse. But before she putteth her first woort into the furnace, or mingleth it with the hops, she taketh out a vessel full, of eight or nine gallons, which she shutteth up close, and suffereth no aire to come into it till it become yellow, and this she reserveth by it selfe unto further use, as shall appeare hereafter, calling it Brackwoort or Charwoort, and as she saith it addeth also to the colour of the drinke, whereby it yeeldeth not unto amber or fine gold in hew unto the eie. By this time also hir second woort is let runne, and the first being taken out of the furnace and placed to coole, she returneth the middle woort into the furnace, where it is striken over, or from whence it is taken againe.

“When she hath mashed also the last liquor (and let the second to coole by the first) she letteth it runne and then seetheth it againe with a pound and an half of new hops or peradventure two pounds as she seeth cause by the goodness or basenesse of the hops; and when it hath sodden in summer two hours, and in winter an houre and an halfe, she striketh it also and reserveth it unto mixture with the rest when time dooth serve therefore. Finallie when she setteth hir drinke together, she addeth to hir brackwoort or charwoort halfe an ounce of arras and halfe a quarterne of an ounce of baiberries finelie powdered, and then putteth the same into hir woort with an handful of wheate floure, she proceedeth in such usuall order as common bruing requireth. Some in steed of arras and baies add so much long peper onely, but in hir opinion and my lyking it is not so good as the first, and hereof we make three hoggesheads of good beere, such (I meane) as is meet for poore men as I am to live withall whose small maintenance (for what great thing is fortie pounds a yeare computatis computandis able to performe) may indure no deeper cut, the charges whereof groweth in this manner. I value my malt at ten shillings, my wood at foure shillings which I buie, {56} my hops at twenty pence, the spice at two pence, servants wages two shillings sixpence, both meat and drinke, and the wearing of my vessell at twentie pence, so that for my twenty shillings I have ten score gallons of beer or more, nothwithstanding the loss in seething. . . . The continuance of the drinke is alwaye determined after the quantitie of the hops, so that being well hopped it lasteth longer. For it feedeth upon the hop and holdeth out so long as the force of the same endureth which being extinguished the drinke must be spent or else it dieth and becometh of no value.”

A brewhouse was in the sixteenth century an essential for a gentleman’s house. Boorde, in his directions for building a country house, mentions this:—“And also” he says, “the backe-house and brew-house shall be a dystance from the place and from other buyldyng.”

Strutt gives an inventory of the contents of a private brewhouse of the sixteenth century. “Im primis a meshe fatt—Item, a great ledde (leaden vessel)—Item, a brasse panne set in the walle (the copper for boiling the wort)—Item, 6 wort leeds, callyd coolars—Item, a greate c’linge fatt with 2 other fattes, and other tubs and kimnelles.”

The poetic soul of Thomas Tusser, which has condescended to celebrate in quaint and homely verse most subjects of domestic interest or savouring of country life, has left us a short effusion on home-brew, which, though not perhaps so complete as a novice in the art of brewing might desire for his instruction, yet contains some pithy and, doubtless, useful rules. The verses are to be found in the Pointes of Good Huswiferie, and run thus:―

Pain was not always taken by Gill with her swill, as may be seen by the sad account of the Distracted Maid, an Ancient Garland, in which the evil results of a pre-occupied mind are shown. One verse of this effusion will doubtless be deemed sufficient:―

It is interesting to compare the cost of brewing in the sixteenth century with that at the present day. Harrison’s brewing, as he has shown us, cost him a fraction over a penny the gallon. The following account of a brewing in the household of the Duke of Northumberland, in the eighth year of the reign of Henry VIII., brings out somewhat the same result, though the “painful scribe” seems to have got a little confused in his arithmetic towards the end of his account; however, a good deal must be excused to those who have to work sums in Roman numerals.

“A Brewyng at Wresill and carryede to Topclif. Fyrste paide for vj quarters malt at Wresill after vs. the quarter—xxxs. Item, paide for vj lb Hopps for the saide Brewyng after j d. ob. the lb—jxd. Item, {58} paide for v score Faggotts for the saide Brewyng after v faggots j d—xxd. Item, paide for the Cariage of the saide Brewyng from Wresill to Borrowbrigg by watir—viz xij Hoggeshedes whiche makith iij Tonns after iiijs. vd. the Tonne and a penny more at all—xiijs. iiijd. Item paide for the Hire of iij Wanys for carrying of the said iij Tonne from Barrow-brigg to Topclyf after viijd for the Hire of every Wayne—ijs.

“Whereof is made xij Hoggeshedes of Beyr. Every Hoggeshede contenyng xlviij gallons whiche is in all cccciiij xvj gallons after a Penny the Gallon and iijd. les at all which is derer by qu in every gallon save iijs iiijd. les at all—xlvijs ixd.”

Not so many years later the prices of ale and beer seem to have risen unaccountably, for in the charges for the diet of Mary Queen of Scots at Tutbury, Chartley, and Fotheringaye the item is to be found “for ale bought at dyerse pryces 1148 gallons at 9d. the gallon, £43 13s. 9d.”

“Three hundred and fifty-three tons 2 hogs of beare” were also bought at an average price of 39s. 11d. the ton, £706 13s. 5d. Burton ale may even at that time have commanded a higher price than ordinary ale, and the cost of transit would, no doubt, be heavy. In addition to the ale bought at “dyerse pryces,” some must have been brewed at home; for in further accounts are the following items:—“Hopps 1s., a brewinge fatte with the charges for settyng it up £4 5s. 8d. A new pompe for the brewhouse 28s. 8d.”

Although brewing, as we have seen, was carried on during every month in the year for the commoner household uses, March and October were the favourite months for making strong ale, “the authenticall drinke of England, the whole barmy tribe of ale-cunners never layd their lips to the like.” The summer months were especially eschewed by those who wished to keep their liquor, and hence the old saying:―

“Oh! but my grandmother,” says Gluttony, in the Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, “she was a jolly gentlewoman, and well beloved in every good town and city; her name was Mistress Margery March Beer.”

“Ale and beere,” says Harrison, “beare the greatest brunt in {59} drincking, which are of so many sortes and ages as it pleases the brewar to make them. The beer that is used at noblemen’s tables, is commonly of a yeare olde, (or peradventure of twoo yeres tunning or more, but this is not general) it is also brued in Marche, and is therefore called Marche bere, but for the household it is usually not under a monethes age, eache one coveting to have the same as stale as he might, so that it was not soure.”

And a serious “brunt” it was if the following obituary notice, which appeared in the Gentleman’s Magazine in 1810, may be taken as a sample of our fathers’ devotion to home-brew:―

“At the Ewes farm-house, Yorkshire, aged 76, Mr. Paul Parnell, farmer, grazier, and maltster, who, during his lifetime, drank out of one silver pint cup upwards of £2,000 sterling worth of Yorkshire Stingo, being remarkably attached to Stingo tipple of the home-brewed best quality. The calculation is taken at 2d. per cupful. He was the bon-vivant whom O’Keefe celebrated in more than one of his Bacchanalian songs under the appellation of Toby Philpott.”

The Journal of Timothy Burrell, Esquire, of Ockenden House, Cuckfield, Sussex, proves him to have been a true devotee of the rites of Ceres. With what particularity he mentions his purchases of malt and hops—“May 3, 1683. Quarter of malt, £1. . . . 23 July. For 28lbs. of hops I gave 7s. . . . October. I paid Jo. Warden for 30 bushels of malt, just 4 months, £4 3s.” Then with what care he notes the day on which he brewed, as thus—“3 May, 1702, Pandoxavi” and with what satisfaction the day on which he tapped the barrel,—“12 June Relinivi”—illustrating his manuscript as he goes along with quaint sketches of barrels, quart pots, pockets of hops and such-like. John Coachman, who seems to have been worthy Timothy’s servant for many years, frequently comes in for a remark by reason of his excessive devotion to the barley bree:—“Oct. 8th, 1698. Payd John Coachman, in full of his half year’s wages, to be spent in ale, £2 6s. 6d. I paid him for his breeches (to be drunk,) in part of his wages, 6s.” “Paid to John Coachman, in part of his wages, to be fooled away in syder or lottery, 5s.” “March 26th, 1710, I paid the saddler for John Coachman falling drunk off his box, when he was driving to Glynde, in part of his wages, £1 7s. 6d.” Rest well, honest Timothy, thy quaint pen is still, thy brewing days are over!

In Dean Swift’s Polite Conversations we have the following amusing dialogue on the subject of home-brew:―

Lady Smart. Pray, my lord, did you order the butler to bring {60} up a tankard of our October to Sir John? I believe they stay to brew it.

Sir John Linger. Won’t your ladyship please to drink first?

Lady S. No, Sir John; ’tis in a very good hand; I’ll pledge you.

Col. Atwit (to Lord Smart). My lord, I love October as well as Sir John; and I hope you won’t make fish of one and flesh of another.

Smart. Colonel, you’re heartily welcome. Come, Sir John, take it by word of mouth, and then give it to the Colonel.

Smart. Well, Sir John, how do you like it?

Sir J. Not as well as my own in Derbyshire; ’tis plaguy small.

Lady S. I never taste malt liquor: but they say it is well hopp’d.

Sir J. Hopp’d? why if it had hopp’d a little further it would have hopp’d into the river. O, my lord, my ale is meat, drink, and cloth; it will make a cat speak and a wise man dumb.

Lady S. I was told ours was very strong.

Sir J. Ay, madam, strong of the water; I believe the brewer forgot the malt, or the river was too near him. Faith, it is mere whip-belly vengeance; he that drinks most has the worst share.

Col. I believe, Sir John, ale is as plenty as water at your house.

Sir J. Why, faith, at Christmas we have many comers and goers; and they must not be sent away without a cup of Christmas ale for fear they should——

Lady S. I hear Sir John has the nicest garden in England; they say ’tis kept so clean that you can’t find a place where to spit.

Sir J. O, madam; you are pleased to say so.

Lady S. But, Sir John, your ale is terribly strong and heady in Derbyshire, and will soon make one drunk or sick; what do you then?

Sir J. Why, indeed, it is apt to fox one; but our way is to take a hair of the same dog next morning. I take a new-laid egg for breakfast; and faith one should drink as much after an egg as after an ox.

Thompson, in his Autumn, makes reference to the strong October brew.

Seldom, it may be imagined, even in the sphere of domestic brewing, has so small a “browst” been brewed as that described by Hone in his Table Book as having been made by Widow Wood, of Beckenham Alms House. She brewed with her ordinary cooking utensils, and the fireplace of her little room; a tin kettle served her for boiler, she mashed in a common butter-firkin, ran off the liquor in a “crock,” and tunned it in a small beer barrel. She thought that poor folk might do a great deal for themselves if they only knew how; “but,” said she, “where there’s a will there’s a way.”

Among modern writers Christopher North has left perhaps the best description of what a modern private brewhouse should be. “We dare say,” he says, “that many personages who never in the whole course of their polished existences dreamed or thought of dreaming of brewing anything (except mischief), will shrug their shoulders at the idea of being introduced like his Majesty George the Third, at Whitbread’s, into an odorous brewhouse, redolent of wash, wort, grains, hops, yeast, and carbonic acid gas; peeping into pumps—tumbling into vats. Silence, good exquisite! and let us inform you—(but first take that cigar out of your mouth, or you will infallibly burn the carpet)—let us inform you that a gentleman’s brewhouse, like his greenhouse, his hothouse, his dairy, or even his cellar, is no such unpleasant place. No place, indeed, can be so that has anything of the rural about it. There is our own brewhouse at Buchanan Lodge; it might pass for a summer-house. We shall describe it to you. It stands, good reader (mark us well), at the back of the house, just at the edge of the little ravine or dell, and half hid by the laburnums. It is also separated from the other offices by a lowish beech hedge. Around, below, and opposite are growing the wild cherry, the tall chestnut, the sycamore, the fir, the thorn, and the bramble, which clothe the sides of the deep glen. From its chimneys, as soon as the soft March gales begin to blow, curls the white smoke before the hour of dawn. The fire within burns brightly. Everything is clean and ‘sweet as the newly-tedded hay.’ Precisely as six o’clock strikes we march forth—ay, even we, Christopher North—with our old fishing jacket and our apron on; our old velvet study-cap close about our ears, and our thermometer in our hand. The primroses are basking in the morning rays; the dewdrops are sparkling the last upon the leaves; the unseen violets are breathing forth sweets; the blackbird trills his mellow notes in the thicket; the wren twitters in the hedge; and the redbreast hops round the door. We enter. All is right. We try our heat. ‘Donald, a leetle more cold. That will do. {62} In with the malt. Every grain, you hound.’ ‘Ech! Donald’s no the man to pench the maut.’ ‘Now stir, for life;’ and the active stirrer turns over and over the fragrant grain in the smoking liquid. All is covered up close, and the important mash (twelve bushels to the hogshead) is completed.

“But of what sort of malt? ‘Another question for the swordsmen,’ for of ‘malts’ there are as many flavours, almost, as of vintages. They who think that if malt be but sweet, mealy, and well crushed—that is all—know, begging their pardons, little of the matter. We have heard brewers, who thought themselves no fools, assert that the hops alone give the ale its flavour; and that the difference between pale and high dried malt is only in colour. They might as well have argued that the lemon gives all the flavour to punch! We, Christopher North, aver, that upon the degree of dryness which has been given to the malt, the distinguishing flavour of malt liquor mainly depends. The bitter principle of the hop is only the ground or substratum upon which the skilful brewer builds his peculiar flavour of beer. As more or less of hops is put in, no doubt the saccharine principle of the malt is subdued, or is suffered to predominate. But in malt there is, besides the mere sugar which it contains in common with so many other vegetables, a flavour peculiar to itself: and this is brought out and modified by the application of more or less of the great chemical agent, heat, to the malted barley. In short, fire makes malt more or less savoury, much as it makes a brandered fowl, or a mutton steak, or a toasted oaten cake, more or less savoury.”

Countless receipts have been preserved for making, flavouring, and keeping home-brew from the days of the Saxon Leechbooks down to the present time. Some of the older ones were supposed to depend for their efficacy on supernatural intervention. “If the ale be spoilt,” says an old Saxon Leechdom, “take lupins, lay them on the four quarters of the dwelling, and over the door, and under the threshold, and under the ale-vat, put the wort (the herb) into the ale with holy water.”

In a Scotch brewer’s instructions for Scotch ale, dated 1793, may be found a mystical note: “I throw a little dry malt, which is left on purpose, on the top of the mash, with a handful of salt, to keep the witches from it, and then cover it up.” Perhaps the idea that witches could spoil the ale by their evil charms gave rise to the phrase “water bewitched,” signifying very weak beer or other liquor.

The plant, ale-cost (ground ivy), was, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, used for “dispatching the maturation” of ale and beer. {63} Gerard, in his Herball (1579), mentions the same plant under the name of ale-houve. “The women of our northern parts,” he says, “do tun the herb ale-houve into their ale, but the reason thereof I know not.”

Our ancestors either must have had some means of very rapidly “maturing” their ale, or they must have been content to drink it unmatured; for it is recorded in the Munimenta Academica Oxon. that a brewer of Oxford was, in 1444, compelled to solemnly swear before the Chancellor that he would let his ale stand twelve hours to clear, before he carried it to hall or college for sale; and in London it was the custom to drink ale even newer, so much so, that on complaint being made, in the fourteenth year of Queen Elizabeth, that the brewers deliver ale and beer but two or three hours after it has been cleansed and tunned, an ordinance was made that the brewers should not deliver their liquors until eight hours after it had been tunned in the summer months, and six hours in the winter.

Ivory shavings have been recommended for rapidly maturing beer, and it is related that a woman, who lived at Leighton Buzzard, in Bedfordshire, and had the best ale in the town, once told a gentleman she had drink just done working in the barrel, and that she would wager it was fine enough to drink out of a glass even before it was bunged. It was as she said, and the ivory shavings, that she boiled in the wort, were the cause of it.

Among the many receipts given in old works for “recovering” ale or beer when it has turned sour, is one directing the housewife to put a handful or two of ground malt into the beer, stir it well together, which will make the beer work and become good again. In another receipt the brewer is directed to put a handful of oatmeal into a barrel of beer when first laid into the cellar, which will cause it to carry with it a quick and lively taste. The root of flower-de-luce or iris suspended in ale is said to be a specific against sourness.

Another plan is to calcine oyster shells, beat them to powder with a like quantity of chalk, put them in a thin bag into the liquor, hanging it almost to the bottom, and in twenty-four hours the work will be effected. It may be suggested that in these cases prevention is better than cure—drink your beer while it is good, and do not give it an opportunity of getting sour. An old receipt for preserving small beer without the help of hops, is to mix a small quantity of treacle with a handful of wheat and bean flour and a little ginger, to knead the mixture to a due consistence, and put it into the barrel. “It has been a common observation,” said an old writer, “that both beer and ale are {64} apt to be foul, disturbed, and flat in bean season; the same is observed of wines in the vintage countries. Thunder is also a spoiler of good malt liquor, to prevent the effects of which, laying a solid piece of iron on each cask has hitherto been esteemed an effectual prevention of the above injuries.” In some places, too, an iron pad fitting closely over the bunghole is used, and in others an iron tray answers the same purpose. An old receipt book contains the following remarkable directions for making forty sorts of ale out of one barrel of liquor.

“Have ale of good body, and when it has worked well bottle it off, but fill not the bottles within three spoonfuls; then being ripe, as you use it, fill it up with the syrup of any fruit, root, flower, or herb you have by you for that purpose, or drop in chimical oyls or waters of them, or of spices, and with a little shaking the whole mass will be tinctured and taste pleasantly of what you put in; and so you may make all sorts of physical ales with little trouble, and no incumbrance, more healthful and proper than if herbs were soaked in it or drugs, which in the pleasant entertainment will make your friends wonder how you came by such variety on a sudden.”

USE AND IMPORTANCE OF HOPS IN BEER: THEIR INTRO­DUC­TION AND HIS­TORY. — HOP-GROW­ERS’ TROU­BLES. — MED­IC­INAL QUALITIES. — ECO­NOM­I­CAL USES. — HOP-PICK­ERS.

HE hops used in beer-brewing are the female flowers of the hop plant known to botanists as the Humulus lupulus of Linnæus. At first sight it may seem strange that hops and wolves should have anything in common, but it has been explained that the word lupulus comes from the name by which the Romans called the hop plant—Lupus Salictarius—the idea being that the hop was as destructive among the willows (where it grew) as a wolf among sheep. Though hops are now staple articles of a large commerce, and largely cultivated in England, America, Belgium, France, and our colonies, some few hundred years ago their valuable qualities were little known in this country.

How, when, and where the flowers of the hop plant were first used to give to beer its delicious flavour and keeping qualities, is not {66} accurately known. Pliny, in his Natural History, states that the Germans preserved ale with hops, and there is a Rabbinical tradition, referring to still earlier times, to the effect that the Jews, during their captivity in Babylon, found the use of hopped ale a protection against their old enemy, leprosy. In a letter of donations, the great King Pepin uses the word “Humuloria,” meaning hop gardens. Mesne, an Arabian physician, who wrote about the year 845, also mentions hops; and Basil Valentine, an alchemist of the 14th century, specifically refers to the use of the hop in beer. Dr. Thudichum, in his pamphlet, Alcoholic Drinks, tells us that in early days of beer production wild hops only were used, as is the practice at the present day in Styria, but that in some foreign countries the plant has been largely cultivated for nearly a thousand years. It is a well-known fact that in the eighth and ninth centuries, hop gardens, called Humuloria or Humuleta, existed in France and Germany.

That the hop was known to the English before the Conquest in some form or other, is proved by the reference to the hymele, or hop plant, in the Anglo-Saxon version of the Herbarium, of Apuleius. Although no trace of the word hymele now remains in our every-day language, it is found in Danish as “humle,” and is only the English form of the Latin humulus. The Herbarium just mentioned contains a remarkable passage with reference to “hymele.” “This wort,” it says, “is to that degree laudable that men mix it with their usual drinks.” The usual drinks of the English were undoubtedly malt liquors, and this passage would go far to show that even in Saxon times the hop was used in English brewing. Cockayne, the learned editor of Saxon Leechdoms, is inclined to this opinion, and he instances in confirmation of it that special mention is made of the hedge-hymele, as though there existed at that time a cultivated hop from which it had to be distinguished; he also cites the name Hymel-tun, in Worcestershire (now Himbleton), which he states is mentioned in Anglo-Saxon deeds, and which could hardly have signified anything less than hop yard. The word hopu (i.e., hops) also occurs in Saxon documents. Ewe-hymele is mentioned in Saxon Leechdoms, and would probably signify the female hop. In the year 822 there is a record that the millers of Corbay were freed by the abbot from all labours relating to hops, and a few years later hops are mentioned by Ludovicus Germanicus.

The introduction of hops into England has been generally assigned to the early part of the sixteenth century. The old but unreliable distich, {67}

points to a period subsequent to 1520 as the time when the great improvement of adding hops to malt liquors was first practised in this country. This rhyme probably refers to the settling of certain Flemings in Kent, to be mentioned anon, which no doubt gave a great impulse to the use of hops; it cannot well refer to their first introduction, as they were known in England for many years previously and were used in beer-brewing nearly a century before the Reformation.

In that curious old work the Promptorium Parvulorum (1440), which is, in fact, an old English-Latin dictionary, occur some passages which, when taken in conjunction with the London Records of a slightly later date, seem to show that the introduction of hops into English brewing (excepting their possible use in Saxon times) should be assigned to a period a little before the middle of the fifteenth century.

The word “hoppe” is defined as “sede for beyre. Humulus secundum extraneos.” “Bere” is defined as “a drynke. Humulina, vel humuli potus, aut cervisia hummulina.” The inference to be drawn from these passages is that hops and beer, in the sense of hopped ale, were known in England some time previous to the year 1440. The compiler, however, shows by his definition of “bere” as a “drynke,” that the word required some explanation, for when he mentions “ale,” he simply gives the Latin equivalent, “cervisia.” He certainly regarded beer as an interloper, as shown by his note on ale, “Et nota bene quod est potus Anglorum.” Four years after the date of the publication of the Promptorium, William Lounde and Richard Veysey were appointed inspectors or surveyors of the “bere-bruers” of the City of London, as distinguished from the ale-brewers who were at this time a company governed by a master and wardens. Ten years later an {68} ordinance for the government of the beer-brewers was sanctioned by the Lord Mayor. From this date the City Records contain frequent mention of the beer-brewers as distinct from the ale-brewers. However, beer, “the son of ale,” as an old writer calls it, did not rapidly attain popularity. Ten years after the date last referred to, the beer-brewers petitioned the Lord Mayor and “Worshipfull soveraignes the Aldermen” of the City of London, in these terms:—“To the full honourable Lord the Maire, etc. Shewen mekely unto youre good Lordshipp and maistershippes, the goode folke of this famous citee the which usen Bere-bruyng within the same, that where all mistiers and craftys of the sd citee have rules and ordenances by youre grete auctoritees for the common wele of this honourable citee made, and profite of the same craftys,” but the petitioners have none such rules, and therefore the citizens are liable to be imposed upon “in measure of barell, kilderkyns and firkyns, and in hoppes and other greynes the which to the said mistiere apperteynen. . . . It is surmysed upon them that often tymes they make their bere of unseasonable malt the which is of little prise and unholsome for mannes body for their singular availe, forasmuch as the comon peple for lacke of experience cannot know the perfitnesse of bere as wele as of the ale,” the petitioners pray that certain regulations of the trade may be established by authority. Passing over another period of twenty years, during which the City Records contain nothing to show whether hops and beer advanced or declined in popularity, we find that in the first year of Richard III. a petition was presented to Lord Mayor Billesdon, by the Brewers’ Company, showing “that whereas by the sotill and crafty means of foreyns36 dwelling withoute the franchises . . . . . a deceivable and unholsome fete in bruyng of ale within the said citee nowe of late is founde and practised, that is to say, in occupying and puttyng of hoppes and other things in the said ale, contrary to the good and holesome manner of bruynge of ale of old tyme used, . . . to the great deceite and hurt of the King’s liege people. . . . Pleas it therefore your saide good lordshyppe to forbid the putting into ale of any hops, herbs, or any other like thing, but onely licour, malte and yeste.” The petition is granted and a penalty of 6s. 8d. is laid on every barrel of ale so brewed contrary to the ancient use. This early use of the technical {69} term “licour,” or liquor, instead of water is noteworthy. We learn by a note in the Letter-book that the fine on putting hops into ale was shortly afterwards reduced to 3s. 4d. the barrel, while any other kind of adulteration is still to subject the offender to the full fine of 6s. 8d. It will have been observed that it is not the making of beer which is forbidden, but the putting of hops into ale, and selling the drink as ale. There is abundant evidence to show that beer continued to be made and sold with the sanction of the authorities, and that the beer-brewers, many of whom at this time were Dutchmen, practised a separate craft from that of the ale-brewers. Two years after the date of the last petition a regulation was made that no beer-brewer is to be “affered” (fined) more than 6s. 8d., nor an ale-brewer more than two shillings, for breaking the assize. The oath of the ale-searchers contains the following passage:—“Ye shall swear . . . to search and assay . . . that the ale be holsom, weell soden and able for mannes body, and made with none other stuff but only with holsom and clere ale-yest, watyr and malt, and such as you find unholsom for mannes body or brewed with any other thing except with watyr and malt, be it with rosen, hoppes, bere-yest, or any other craft, . . .” you shall duly report for punishment. In the same year it is recorded that the beer-brewers were ordered to use “gode clene, sweete, holsom greyne and hoppes,” and the rulers of the beer-brewers are to have powers of inspection of hops and other grains.

Prosecutions for the use of hops were frequent, but they were for putting hops into ale, and not for brewing beer. In the twelfth year of Henry VII., John Barowe was presented by the wardens of the brewers because he brewed ale with beer-yeast, “quod est corpori humano insalubre.” Nine years later Robert Dodworth, brewer’s servant, confessed that he had brewed “a burthen of ale in the house of his master in Fleet Street with hops, contrary to the laws and laudable acts and customs of the city.” In the tenth year of Henry VIII., William Shepherd, brewer’s servant to Philip Cooper, “occupying the feat of bruing,” made a deposition that he had “once since Michaelmas last brewed ale with hops, but that his master knew not of it,” but that he had heard that other servants had brewed with hops, “and that was the cause why he brewed with hoppes, and more he would not say.” Philip Cooper, however, was evidently suspected, for in the same records we find that he was compelled to bring into the Court “a standing cup with a cover of gylt with three red hearts in the bottom of the cup to stand to the order of the Court touching the brewing with hoppes.” On {70} payment of a fine of five shillings, his gage is ordered to be returned to him. Many other passages could be quoted from the City Records in support of the view that beer-brewing was not forbidden, but only the adulteration, as it was considered, of the old English ale with an admixture of hops. We have dwelt somewhat fully upon this part of the subject, as there appears to be an almost universal misconception as to the date of the introduction of hops into England, and as to their use having been for some time altogether prohibited by the law of the land. The only authority for this last mentioned idea, seems to be the statement of Fuller, in his Worthies of England, that hops were forbidden as the result of a petition which was presented in the time of Henry VI. against “the wicked weed called hops.” No statute to this effect is in existence, no record is to be found in the rolls of Parliament of any such petition, and the statement is in opposition to the evidence we have been able to collect on the subject.

About the year 1524 a large number of Flemish immigrants settled in Kent, cultivated hops and brewed beer, and soon caused that county to become famous for its hop gardens and the excellence of their produce. To these strangers is perhaps due the chief credit of having enlightened the British mind on the subject of bitter beer, and their advent is probably the event pointed to in the old couplet already quoted.

Among the numerous officials appointed to enforce the regulations of the City, were persons called hop-searchers, whose duty it was to search for defective hops, which, when found were burnt. Wriothesley’s Chronicle mentions that “on the 10th daie of September, 1551, was burned in Finsburie Field XXXI sacke and pokettes of hopps in the afternoune, being nought, and not holsome for man’s bodie, and condemned by an Act made by my Lord Maior and his bretheren the aldermen the 10th daie of September, at which court six comeners of the Cittie of London were apoynted to be serchers for a hole yeare for the said hopps; and they were sworne the fifth daie of this moneth and made search ymediatlie for the same.”

The popular taste is not a thing to be changed in a day, and at that happy period of history when railways, penny posts, newspapers, stump orators and other nineteenth-century methods of enlightenment were unknown and undreamt of, it may well be understood that the knowledge of this great improvement spread but slowly. Not only were the English slow to appreciate what the Flemings had done for them, but they believed that they were like to be poisoned by the new-fangled drink which was not in their eyes to be compared to the sweet and {71} thick, but honest and unsophisticated English ale. The writers of the day are loud in their abuse of beer. In the passages from Andrew Boorde’s Dyetary (1542), quoted in Chapter I. (p. 6), ale is described as being the natural drink of Englishmen, and made of malt and water, while beer, which is composed of malt, hops, and water, is the natural drink of a Dutchman, and of late is much used in England, to the great detriment of many Englishmen. There is a truly insular ring about this. We should like to enlighten old Andrew’s darkness by a draught of sparkling Burton. Boorde undoubtedly expresses the popular opinion of the period, for from Rastall’s Book of Entries we learn that an ale-man brought his action against his Brewer for spoiling his ale, by putting in it a certain weed called a hopp, and recovered damages. Even Harry the Eighth, who of all our kings was the greatest lover of good things—and a few bad ones—was blind to the merits of the hop, and enjoined the Royal brewer of Eltham that he put neither hops nor brimstone into the ale. Possibly sulphuring, of which a word or two anon, was then in use; we cannot otherwise account for the mention of brimstone. This was in 1530, only six years after the Flemings had settled in Kent.

Abused by medical writers as drink only fit for Dutchmen, objected to by the king, and disliked by the majority of the people, the song-writers of the day, of course, had a good deal to say against the new drink. In the High and Mightie Commendation of the Virtue of a Pot of Good Ale, it is hardly surprising to find the following lines:―

The ale-wives and brewers, however, were wiser than their customers, and, induced also by the fact that their hopped ale went not sour as of yore, stuck to their colours—nailed to a hop pole no doubt—and slowly but surely educated the taste of the people. It was, however, a long process.

Henry, in his History of England, vol. 6, referring to the Scottish diet about the end of the sixteenth century, writes:―

“Ale and gascony wines were the principal liquors; but mead, cyder, and perry were not uncommon. Hops were still scarce, and seldom employed in Ale, which was brewed therefore in small quantities, to be drunk while new. At the King’s table Ale was prohibited as unfit for use till five days old.”

From a whimsical old book, entitled Wine, Beer, Ale, and Tobacco, a dialogue, in which the two leading malt liquors of the day (1630) converse, and give their own views on the subject, it appears that even as late as the seventeenth century beer was little known in country districts, though popular in London.

Beer is introduced making a pun on his own name; he says to Wine, “Beere leave, sir.” The chief points in Ale’s argument, which is better than that of any of the others, are contained in the following passage:—“You, Wine and Beer, are fain to take up a corner anywhere—your ambition goes no farther than a cellar; the whole house where I am goes by my name, and is called Ale-house. Who ever heard of a Wine-house, or a Beer-house? My name, too, is, of a stately etymology—you must bring forth your latin. Ale, so please you, from alo, which signifieth nourish—I am the choicest and most luscious of potations.” Wine, Beer, and Ale at last compose their differences, each having a certain dominion assigned to him, and join in singing these lines:―

In the end Tobacco appears—He arrogates an equality with Wine—“You and I both come out of a pipe.” The reply is, “Prithee go smoke elsewhere.” “Don’t incense me, don’t inflame Tobacco,” he retorts; but is told, “No one fears your puffing—turn over a new leaf, Tobacco, most high and mighty Trinidado.” {73}

In an old play printed a few years later (1659) it is indicated that ale was still generally made without hops:―

If Defoe’s statement on the subject, in his Tour Through Great Britain, is correct, it must, indeed, have been many years before the use of hops made any headway in the northern portions of the kingdom. “As to the North of England,” he writes, “they formerly used but few Hops there, their Drink being chiefly pale smooth ale, which required no hops; and consequently they planted no hops in all that part of England North of Trent. . . . But as for some years past, they not only brew great quantities of Beer in the North, but also use hops in the brewing of their ale, much more than they did before, so they all come south of Trent to buy their hops.”

In the reign of Edward VI., by the Statute 5 and 6 Ed. VI. c. 5 (repealed 5 Eliz. c. 2), it was enacted that all land formerly in tillage should again be cultivated, excepting “land set with saffron or hops.” This is, we believe, the first mention of hops in the Statute book. The next Act on the subject was one passed in 1603, by which regulations were made for the curing of hops, which process had thenceforward to be carried out under the inspection of the officers of excise. From a petition presented by the Brewers’ Company to Lord Burleigh, a few years previously (1591), we learn that the price of hops was then £3 16s. 8d. to £4 10s. 6d. per cwt., instead of 6s. 8d. as formerly, and was, the Brewers said, in quality well worth three hundredweight of those sold at that time. Hops were evidently coming into favour. We gather from an old receipt that about the end of the century, Beer was made with “40 lbs. of hoppeys to 40 qrs. of grain.”

About the earliest English work on the culture of hops is an old black-letter pamphlet published in 1574 “at the Signe of the Starre, in Paternoster Rowe.” It is entitled, “A Perfite Platforme of a Hoppe Garden, and necessarie instructions for the making and mayntenance thereof, with notes and rules for reformation of all abuses, commonly practised therein, very necessary and expedient for all men to have, which in any wise have to doe with hops.” The author was one Reynolde Scot, and the little volume is adorned with quaint illustrations, and tastefully designed initial letters. The work is dedicated to {75} “Willyam Lovelace Esquire, Sergeaunt at the Lawe,” whom the author desires to accompany him in a consideration of “a matter of profite, or rather with a poynt of good Husbandrie, (in aparance base and tedious, but in use necessarie and commodious, and in effect pleasant and profitable) (that is to saye) to look downe into the bowels of your grounde, and to seeke about your house at Beddersden (which I see you desire to garnish with many costly commodities) for a convenient plot to be applyed to a Hoppe Garden, to the furtherance and accomplishing whereof, I promyse and assure you, the labour of my handes, the assistance of my advise, and the effect of myne experience.”

This little work is recommended to the reader (the recommendation covers four pages) more particularly “as a recompence to the labourer, as a commoditie to the house-keeper, as a comfort to the poor, and as a benefite to the Countrie or Commonwealth, adding thus much hereunto, that there cannot lightly be employed grounde to more profitable use, nor labour to more certain gaynes; howbeit, with this note, that no mysterie is so perfect, no floure so sweete, no scripture so holy, but by abuse a corrupt body, ascending to his venomous nature, may draw poyson out of the same, and therefore blame not this poore trade for that it maketh men riche in yielding double profite.” The author goes on to say that it grieves him to see how “the Flemings envie our practise herein” and declare English hops to be bad, so that they may send the more into England. From this it would seem clear that at all events foreign hops were extensively used in English beer at that date, and English hop gardens by no means common. Scot, who must have been a man of common sense, gives good advice to intending hop growers. They are to consider three things: “First, whether you have, or can procure unto yourself, any grounde good for that purpose” (i.e., the cultivation of hops). “Secondly, of the convenient standing thereof. Thirdly, of the quantitie. And this I saye by the way, if the grounde you deale withall, be not your own enheritance, procure unto your selfe some certayne terme therein, least another man reape the fruite of your traveyle and charge.”

From the epilogue, which concludes with a tremendous denunciation of those who allow strangers from beyond the seas to bring into the country that which we ought to grow ourselves, we cull the following quaint passage:

“There will some smell out the profitable savour of this herbe, some wyll gather the fruit thereof, some will make a sallet therewith (which is good in one respect for the bellye, and in another for the {76} Purse), and when the grace and sweetenesse hereof conceived, some will dippe their fingers therein up to the knuckles, and some will be glad to licke the Dishe, and they that disdayne to be partakers hereof, commonly prove to be such as have mountaynes in fantasie, and beggary in possession.”

Reynolde Scot’s pamphlet is most complete in the directions it gives concerning hop-growing, and, strange to say, the system of cultivation seems little changed since then. The author levels the following remarks at the heads of those who might, yet will not, grow hops:— “Methinks I might aptlye compare such men as have grounde fitte for this purpose, and will not employ it accordingly, to ale-house knightes, partly for the small devotion which both the one and the other have unto Hoppes, but especially for that many of these ale knights havyng good drinke at home of their owne, can be content to drinke moore abroade at an ale-house, so they may sit close by it. Let them expounde this comparison that buy their hoppes at Poppering, and may have them at home with more ease, and lesse charge.”

Honest old Thomas Tusser, in his “Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry” (1580), has a good deal to say about hops. He gives a charmingly quaint but very practical “lesson where and when to plant a good hop-yard.”

Among the directions for good husbandry for the various months, Tusser advises that―

The process of setting the hop-poles is thus described:―

Care must be taken to weed and to fence the hop garden:―

We have quoted rather largely from Tusser’s poem, thinking that it may interest hop-growers of the present day.

Reynolde Scot’s appeal was not in vain, for in 1608 there is no doubt that hop plantations were fairly abundant, though the plant was not sufficiently cultivated for home consumption. In that year an Act was passed against the importation of spoilt hops. Until 1690, however, the greater part of supply was drawn from abroad, and then, to encourage home production, a duty of twenty shillings per cwt. over and above all other charges, was put upon those imported. Walter Blith, writing in 1643, speaks of hops as a “national commoditie.” In 1710, the duty of a penny per lb. was imposed upon all hops reared in England, and threepence on foreign hops. In subsequent years slight variations were made in the amount of the duty, and finally it was abolished, when hop-grounds at once began to increase.

When the duty was high, and hops scarce, substitutes for Humulus lupulus were experimented with, among others, pine and willow bark, cascarilla bark, quassia, gentian, colocynth, walnut leaf, wormwood bitter, extract of aloes, cocculus indicus berries, capsicum, and others too numerous to mention, picric acid being perhaps the most modern. None of these have been found to be an equivalent for the hop, lacking its distinct and independent elements of activity.

So far we have treated solely of the somewhat chequered history of the hop. Let us now consider its merits and uses. Thus sang the poet:―

But from poets we do not, as a rule, gather much practical information, except from such as worthy old Tusser. Harrison, in his description of England, says: “The continuance of the drinke is alwaie determined after the quantitie of the hops, so that being well hopped it lasteth longer.” A modern writer puts it thus: “The principal use of hops in brewing is for the preservation of malt liquor, and to communicate to it an agreeably aromatic bitter flavour. The best are used for ale and the finer kinds of malt liquor, and inferior kinds are used for porter.”

“Brew in October and hop it for long keeping,” was the excellent advice given by Mortimer. Dr. Luke Booker, in his sequel poem to the Hop Garden, of course devotes some lines to this subject:―

In relation to his allusion to a “pearly star,” Dr. Booker tells us that, “When ale is of sufficient strength and freshness, there will always float a small cluster of minute pearl-like globules in the centre of the drinking vessel, till the spirit of the liquor is evaporated.”

Hops are an essential to the brewer, not only keeping the beer and giving it an exquisite flavour, but also assisting, if we may be pardoned for using a technical term in a work intended to be anything but technical, to break down the fermentation.

Hops are valuable according as they contain much or little of a yellow powder called lupuline, and technically known as “condition,” which is deposited in minute yellow adhesive globules underneath the {81} bracts of the flower tops, and amounts to from 20 per cent. to 30 per cent. of the dry hops. This powder has a powerful aromatic smell, and is bitter to the taste. It contains hop resin, bitter acid of hops (flavour familiar to bitter beer drinkers), tannic acid, and hop oils, the chemical composition of which is not accurately known. Hops contain most lupuline when the flower is fully matured. Year-old hops only command about half the price of new. Those two years old are called “old-olds,” and are still less valuable. After having been five years in store they are worthless to brewers. Nearly all hops intended to be kept are more or less (the less the better) subjected to the fumes of sulphur, which, oxidising the essential oil, converts it into valerianic acid, and combines with the sulphur to form a solid body. Thus the oil, which would otherwise be the cause of mould, is destroyed, and the hops can be kept. We believe it is the practice of the best brewers to use a mixture of new and old hops, the latter being slightly sulphured, so slightly, indeed, that the smell of the sulphur cannot be detected.

Much has been written on the injurious effects of sulphuring, both to the fermentation and the health of beer-drinkers, and some people have very strong views on the subject. In 1855 a commission, which included Liebig among its members, was appointed by the Bavarian Government to inquire into the matter. After experiments which lasted over a period of two years, a report was issued in which it was stated that in the opinion of the commissioners, sulphuring was beneficial to the hops, and in no way prejudicial to the fermentation. In 1877, a method was made known of preserving hops without sulphur. The oil which prevents the hops from keeping was separated from them by a chemical process, and bottled. The hops were then pressed and kept in the usual way. When required for brewing, the hops and oil could again be united by adding ten or twelve drops of the latter to every twenty-two gallons of beer. This system does not seem to have found favour with hop merchants.

Aloes have occasionally been used to restore decayed hops, though with such poor success that we should hardly think the experiment was often repeated. Professor Bradly, a Cambridge professor of botany, wrote as follows:—“I cannot help taking notice here of a method which has been used to stale and decayed hops, to make them recover their bitterness, which is to unbag them, and sprinkle them with aloes and water, which, I have known, has spoiled great quantities of drink about London; for even where the water, the malt, the brewer, {82} and the cellars are each good, a bad hop will spoil all: so that every one of these particulars should be well chosen before brewing, or else we must expect a bad account of our labour.”

The age of hops is known by their appearance, odour, and feel. New unsulphured hops, for instance, when rubbed through the hand feel oily. In their first year they are of a bright green colour, have an aromatic smell and the lupuline is a bright yellow. In the second year they get darker, have a slightly cheesy odour, and the lupuline becomes a golden yellow. In the third year the lupuline is a dark yellow, the smell being about the same as in the second year.

In the hedges about Canton is found a variety of hop growing wild. It has been named the Humulus Japonicus. “Although this species,” says Seemann, in his Botany of the Voyage of H.M.S. Herald, “was published many years ago by Von Siebold and Zuccarini, we still find nearly all our systematic works asserting that there is only one species of Humulus, as there seems to be only one species of Cannabis. This, however, is a very good species, at once distinguished from the common Hop by the entire absence of those resinous spherical glands, with which the scales of the imbricated heads of the latter are scattered, and to which they owe their value in the preparation of beer, making the substitution of the one for the other for economical purposes an impossibility.”

So much then for the first and principal use of hops—and yet a few lines more on the same subject; from Christopher Smart’s poem of the Hop Garden:―

But hops have other uses than the generation of “the buxom beer.” The discovery, which we consider an important one, was made a few years back that hop-bine makes excellent ensilage. The subject was {83} first mentioned, so far as we know, in a letter to The Field of December 6th, 1884, from A. L., probably, agent to H. A. Brassey, Esq., of Aylesford. The writer gave an account of the opening of a silo, in one compartment of which had been placed eight tons of hop-bines, in the beginning of the previous September. An account of the experiment was also sent by a visitor at the farm, from whose letter the following extract seems to us well worth perusal:—“The hop-bine is at present an entirely waste material, except for littering purposes; and not a few of the local farmers were anxious to see how it would turn out, and whether stock would eat the hop-bine ensilage or not. No experiment could be more satisfactory. The apparent condition and smell of a great deal of it was even superior to that of several of the other varieties; and when a bag of it was taken to the homestead and offered to some fattening steers, which had been well fed just before, and were not in the least hungry, they devoured it with great alacrity, and seemed heartily to enjoy the new food; consequently this will be good news to hop-growers.”

Early in ’85, the following important letter on the subject appeared in the Kentish Gazette, from Mr. T. M. Hopkins, Lower Wick, Worcester:―

“Having learnt from Mr. Seymour, agent to H. A. Brassey, Esq., that hop-bine made first-rate ensilage, last Oct. I made two stacks of it 16ft. by 16ft., and 18ft. high. After letting it ferment freely, I pressed down with Reynolds and Co.’s patent screw press, and next day filled up again; and, when sufficiently fermented, again pressed down, and this lasted all through the hop-picking. I have now used nearly the whole of it, and calculate that it has saved me some 80 tons of hay; no more hop-bine do I waste in future as I have hitherto done. My horses have had nothing else for two months, excepting their usual allowance of corn, and I never had them looking better. I have also had 100 head of cattle, stores, cows, and calves feeding on it for a fortnight, and they do well. Dr. Voelcker, chemist to the R.A.S.E., who has analysed it, says: ‘It has plenty of good material in it, and is decidedly rich in nitrogen, nor is the amount of acid excessive or likely to harm cattle.’ Another analyst, Mr. W. E. Porter, F.C.S., says: ‘It contains more flesh-forming matter and less indigestible fibre than hay dried at 212.’ Planters should leave off growing hops to sell at present average prices, 40s. to 50s., which is a dead loss. Let the plant run wild, and they may every season cut two or three immense crops of material that will make ensilage of unexceptionable quality.” {84}

To this there is little we can add.39 The importance of the subject is evident. We may, however, express a hope that hop-growers will not act on Mr. Hopkins’ suggestion, and only grow hops for the sake of the bine—English hops are too good for that. We have spoken of hop-bine ensilage as a discovery, but French farmers have for years mixed green hop-leaves with their cows’ food, under the belief, rightly or wrongly we know not, that it increases the flow of milk. Possibly in the far past hops were cultivated as fodder, and even used as ensilage. Silos we know were used anciently, though only recently re-introduced owing principally to the attention called to them in The Field and the agricultural journals.

The stem of the hop contains a vegetable wax, and sap from which can be made a durable reddish brown. Its ash is used in the manufacture of Bohemian glass; and it also makes excellent pulp for paper. From its fibres ropes and coarse textile fabrics of considerable strength have been made. The Van de Schelldon process of cloth-making from the stem of the hop, invented, we believe, in 1866, is shortly as follows: The stalks are cut, done up in bundles, and steeped like hemp. After steeping they are dried in the sun. They are then beaten with mallets to loosen the fibres, which are afterwards carded and woven in the usual way. It is from the thicker stems that ropes can be made.

Several patents have been taken out for manufacturing paper from hops. One taken out by a Mr. Henry Dyer was for paper made of fresh or spent hops, or spent malt, alone or combined with other materials. In 1873 a meeting of paper-makers was held in France, before whom was exhibited a textile material made from the bark of the hop-stalk, the outer skin being removed and subjected to chemical treatment. It was in long pieces, and supple and delicate of texture.

About ten years ago it was announced, in a journal devoted to photography, that an infusion of hops, mixed with pyrogallic acid, albumen of eggs, and filtered in the ordinary way, could be used as a preservative for the plates then in use by photographers. Plates preserved with this, dried hard with a fine gloss, and yielded negatives of very high quality. A mixture of beer and albumen was formerly used {85} for the same purpose, but owing to the varying quality and properties of the beer, was very uncertain in its action.

The root of the hop is not without its uses, containing starchy substances which can be made into glucose and alcohol. It also contains a certain amount of tannin, which, it has been suggested, might be used with advantage in tanneries.

Until recently trumpeted forth in the advertisements of a certain patent medicine, it was not generally known outside the medical profession that hops possessed medicinal qualities of considerable value. Old medical writers, however, must have changed their views on the subject within a hundred years after the time of Andrew Boorde, from whose works we have already quoted a few lines. Wm. Coles, Herbalist, in his History of Plants, published in 1657, states that certain preparations of hops are cures for about half the ills that flesh is heir to. Another old writer declares the young shoots of the hop, eaten like asparagus, to be very wholesome and effectual to loosen the body (the poorer classes in some parts of Europe still eat the young hops as a vegetable); the head and tendrils good to purify the blood in the scurvy and most other cutaneous diseases (which scurvy is not), and the decoctions of the flower and syrup thereof useful against pestilential fevers. Juleps and apozems are also prepared with hops for hypochondriacal and hysterical affections; and a pillow stuffed with hops is used to induce sleep. This last method, by the way, was taken advantage of by the medical advisers of George III. That unfortunate king, when in a demented condition, always slept on a pillow so prepared. Another writer tells us that the Spaniards were in the habit of boiling a pound of hop roots in a gallon of water, reducing it to six pints, and drinking half a pint when in bed of a morning, under the belief that it possessed the same qualities as sarsaparilla. Dr. Brooks, in his Dispensatory, published in 1753, concurs with the older writers on the subject.

Observations and Experiments on the Humulus Lupulus of Linnæus, with an account of its use in Gout and other Diseases, is the title of a pamphlet by a Mr. Freake, of Tottenham Court Road, published in 1806. The author states that a patient of his, who was in want of a bitter tincture, found all the usual remedies disagree with him, and after numerous unsatisfactory experiments, fell back upon a preparation of hops, which appeared to answer its purpose. This led Mr. Freake to try further experiments with the hop, when he came to the conclusion that it was an excellent remedy for relieving the pains of gout, acting sometimes when opium failed. {86}

Hops have also been employed with good effect in poultices. Dr. Trotter, in one of his medical works, quotes a letter from an assistant of Dr. Geach, once senior surgeon of the Royal Hospital at Plymouth, in which the writer says that he had during six months experimented with hops, and found that a poultice made of a strong decoction of hops, oatmeal, and water was an excellent remedy for ulcers, which should first be fomented with the decoction.

Dr. Paris, writing of the hop about the year 1820, says, “It is now generally admitted that they constitute the most valuable ingredient in malt liquors. Independently of the flavour and tonic virtues which they communicate, they precipitate, by means of their astringent principle, the vegetable mucilage, and thus remove from the beer the active principle of its fermentation; without hops, therefore, we must either drink our malt liquors new and ropy, or old and sour.”

In the introduction to Murray’s Handbook of Kent it is stated that invalids are occasionally recommended to pass whole days in hop grounds as a substitute for the usual exhibition of Bass or Allsopp. In hop gardens the air is no doubt impregnated with lupuline, so there may be something in this.

At the present day lupuline is often used in medicine. Lupuline was the name given by Ives to the yellow dust covering the female flower of hops. Later, Ives, Chevallier, and Pellatau gave that name, not to the dust, but to the bitter principle it contains. The recognized preparations of hops are an infusion, a tincture, and an extract. They are stomachic, tonic, and soporific. Dr. John Gardner, in one of his works on medicine, says that “bitter ale, or the lupuline in pills which it forms by simply rubbing between the fingers and warming, are the best forms for using hops in dyspepsia and feeble appetite, which they will often relieve.” The lupuline powder is easily separated from the hops by means of a sieve. A hop bath to relieve pain is also recommended by Dr. Gardner for certain painful internal diseases. It is made thus: two pounds of hops are boiled in two gallons of water for half an hour, then strained and pressed, and the fluid added to about thirty gallons of water. This bath has been much praised. Hop beer (without alcohol) is another preparation of the plant which has been recommended.

In America the hop is highly appreciated for medicinal purposes. There are three preparations of it in the authorized code: a tincture, a liquid extract, and an oleo-resin.

So much, then, for the history and economic and medicinal uses of {87} the hop. Before we close this chapter it is our intention to give a short account of the hop-growing countries and districts, of hopfields, of hop-growers’ multifarious troubles, and some description of what are perhaps the greatest curiosities of the subject—the hop-pickers.

The European hop-growing countries stand in the following order: Germany takes the lead with about 477,000 acres of hop gardens, England following, and then Belgium, Austria, France, and other states (Denmark, Greece, Portugal, &c.), in which the acreage is insignificant. According to Dr. Thudichum, 53,000,000 kilogrammes of hops are produced annually in Europe, and in good years production may rise to over 80,000,000. In America hops have been cultivated for more than two centuries, having been introduced into the New Netherlands in 1629 and into Virginia in 1648. Hop-culture is now common in most of the northern states.

We believe we are correct in saying that the best hop years America has ever known, were 1866 to 1868, when the amount produced was from 2,400 lbs. to 2,500 lbs. per acre. In 1870 the total production was 25,456,669 lbs. In Australia hops are extensively cultivated; they are also grown in China and India. In the latter place they have not been introduced many years, but beer of a fair quality is made in some of the hill stations. The following table shows approximately the acreage of hops in England at the present time:

From the eastern limits of the hop gardens at Sandwich to the western boundary in Hereford, hard by the borders of Wales, there are, then, about 65,619 acres of hop gardens, or hop “yards,” as they are called in some districts, e.g., Worcester and Hereford. North Cray, in Nottinghamshire, formerly grew a good quantity of hops, but the plantations are now considerably reduced, and this applies also to the Stowmarket district, in Suffolk, and to Essex. The number of acres devoted to the cultivation of hops has always been subject to great {88} fluctuations; thus in 1807 they numbered 38,218; in 1819, 51,000; in 1830, 46,727; and in 1875, 70,000.

Dr. Booker wrote that for quality of hops, Herefordshire stood first Worcestershire second, Kent third, and North Cray fourth; but he was probably mistaken, for the hops of East Kent have always been held to be the best in all England, pre-eminent alike for strength and flavour; those of Farnham, however, run them very closely. Our English hops, indeed, are far superior to most of those imported, and the foreigners are rarely used in beer without an admixture of home-grown hops. Immense quantities now come from abroad; in 1828 only 4 cwt. were imported!

Until quite recently, the whole of the hops in this country were poled upon much the same system as that described in Reynolde Scot’s old pamphlet—that is, three or four plants would be grown on a hillock, each having a pole to climb. Now, the poles are largely supplemented by wires arranged in various ways, sometimes, when covered with bine, forming bell-tents of hops; and sometimes running from pole to pole. Other wires leaving them at right angles are attached to pegs in the ground. The aspect of the gardens is greatly changed, but they are not less beautiful than of yore. Train the hop as you will, you cannot make it unlovely. The vines twist lovingly round the slender wires and tall poles, the former bending under their weight and swaying to and fro in the breeze. From pole to pole run the topmost shoots, and the whole field is one large arbour, roofed, if it be autumn, with verdant foliage and golden green fruit. Then, may be, the sunlight here and there touches the glorious clusters, giving them still richer colours. “The hop for his profit I thus do exalt,” wrote old Tusser, “and for his grace and beauty,” he might have added, but the worthy Thomas was nothing if not practical. Howitt, in his Year Book of the Country thus writes of the hop country in autumn: “But all is not sombre and meditative in September. The hopfield and the nutwood are often scenes of much jolly old English humour and enjoyment. In Kent and Sussex the whole country is odorous with the aroma of hop, as it is breathed from the drying kilns and huge wagons filled with towering loads of hops, thronging the road to London. But not only is the atmosphere perfumed with hops, but the very atmosphere of the drawing-room and dining-room too. Hops are the grand flavour of conversation as well as of beer. Gentlemen, ladies, clergymen, noblemen, all are growers of hops, and deeply interested in the state of the crop and the market.” {89}

The use of wires is a serious matter for hop-pole growers if the following calculation, made by some ingenious person, be correct. Suppose that 45,000 acres of hops are under cultivation, and each acre annually requires 800 new poles, the total annual requirement will be 36,000,000 poles. Each acre of underwood from which poles are cut produces about 3,000. Every year, therefore, 12,000 acres of underwood must be cut to supply the demand. If each acre produces on an average 2,000 poles, which is nearer the truth than 3,000, then 18,000 acres must be cut annually to supply the hop-gardens with poles.

Poets, in their search for similes, have not overlooked hops and hop poles. In Gay’s A New Song of New Similes occur the following lines:―

Hop-growers’ troubles, furnish a theme of which, were we hop-growers, we fear our readers would weary, for a volume might very well be filled with a relation of them. Not being hop-growers, and having much to write about ere we inscribe the sad word “finis,” we must content ourselves only with such an account as will give our readers a general idea of the subject. To begin with, the annual outlay per acre in the gardens is very great, being about £36. A hop acre, be it observed, is not an ordinary acre, but contains a thousand hop plants in rows, six or seven feet apart, and is equal to about two-thirds the statutory acre.

A glance at statistics will show the truth of our statement. In 1882 the return per acre did not average more than 1½ cwt. on account of a perfect plague of aphides; while in 1859, which is about the best hop year of the century, the return was 13¼ cwt. per acre. The average yield during the last seventy-six years is about 6¾ cwt. per acre; not a very large return for the outlay. In 1839 a certain hop plantation in Kent of about 21½ acres, produced 15 cwt. per acre, and in the following year only 1 cwt. per acre.

These extraordinary variations in the production of hop gardens are caused by insects and the weather. Early in the year, when the vines appear well grown and sturdy, the hop-grower may with a light heart, perhaps, prophesy a good crop. In May a few aphides—winged females—are noticed, and in August the silvery brightness of the delicate bracts is blackened and spoilt by the filth of the lice—larvæ of the hop aphis. About September a mighty wind comes; poles are blown down in all directions, the ground is strewn with the cones blown from the vines, and branches are bruised, causing the cones on them to wither and decay before picking-time. Just as the hops are ripening two or three cold nights perhaps occur, which throw them back and materially reduce the value of the crop. Then they may be attacked with mildew, or even when all evils have in most part been avoided, picking-time has all but arrived, and the hop-grower is congratulating himself on his good fortune, a shower of hail may happen, stripping the vines and reducing the value of the crop by three-fourths.

Miss Ormerod, consulting entomologist to the Royal Agricultural Society, has given much study to, and thrown considerable light upon, the hop aphis. The course of the attack upon the hop she has discovered to be as follows:—The aphis first comes upon the hop in the spring in the form of wingless females (depositing young), which ascend the bine from the ground. The great attack, however, which usually occurs in the form of “fly” about the end of May, comes from damson and sloe bushes as well as from the hop; the hop aphis and the damson aphis being, in Miss Ormerod’s opinion, very slight varieties of one species, and so similar in habits that for all practical purposes of inquiry they may be considered one.

From experiments made on hop grounds in Hereford, the use of various applications round the hills in the late autumn or about the beginning of April, completely prevented attacks to the vines of those hills until the summer attack came on the wing. Paraffin in any dry material spread on the hills, proved serviceable both as a preventive {91} and a remedy, and petroleum and kerosine were also used with advantage. Among the methods of washing, the application of steam power opens up a possibility of carrying out these operations with rapidity and at less cost. When the fly is very bad, the common practice is, after the picking is over, to clear the land of bine and weeds and to place quicklime round the hills or plant centres.

When the hop is fully formed, shortly before picking, if the weather be hot and close, almost the whole crop may be destroyed in a few days. The aphides penetrate the hop and suck from the tender bracts the juice, some of which exudes; this, the moist weather retarding evaporation, produces decay at the point of puncture, and a black spot shows, technically called “mould.” The great enemies to the lice are the ladybirds, which devour them greedily, and a hop-grower would as soon destroy a ladybird as a herring fisherman a seagull.

It has been recently suggested that the suitability or not of soil for hop-growing, depends upon the presence or absence of sulphur, which is an essential ingredient of hops. There is more than one instance on record where hops treated with gypsum (sulphate of lime) were free from mould, while in adjoining gardens the hops not so treated suffered severely. The hops least liable to blight and mould contain the largest amount of sulphur. A curious fact has been proved in Germany by careful analysis. In plants attacked by the hop bug the proportion of sulphur is much greater in the healthy and unattacked leaves than in those infested with the bug. This subject hardly comes within the range of our work, and we merely mention it to bring it into notice among hop-growers, whom further experiments with gypsum may possibly benefit. It is obvious that as the chief attack is made by aphis on the wing, dressings put on the ground with a view to kill the aphides in the soil are of little avail, for from a neighbouring or even a distant garden where the hills have been not so treated, may come a flight of aphides causing desolation in their track. If, however, sulphur can be imported into the live plant, and such plants are untouched by the fly, it would seem that we are near a solution of this very vexed problem. We know of an instance where the hops on one side of a valley were totally destroyed by the fly, while on the other side they were untouched. The wind setting in one direction during the flight, had carried the fly over the sheltered side, and deposited them on the exposed side of the valley.

Not to mention extraordinary tithes in this portion of our subject would be a serious omission. Formerly our worthy pastors were paid {92} with a tenth of the actual produce of the land, now they receive what are in theory equivalent money payments. As orchards, market gardens, and hop gardens were deemed to yield much greater returns than other land, the tithe on them was fixed at a much greater rate than on pasture and arable land. While the tithe on these latter is but trifling, the tithe on the former is about thirty shillings per acre. When few foreign hops were imported, these very extraordinary tithes could be paid, but now they are a most serious, not to say unjust, tax on the hop-grower who in very bad years may not make thirty or even twenty shillings per acre. It is common knowledge that a great agitation is on foot to obtain their abolition, and there appears to be a very general feeling that no land ought in the future to become subject to extraordinary tithe by reason of any crop which may be grown on it. At present the extraordinary tithes are a check on production and the most advantageous cultivation of land. Being thus prejudicial to the welfare of the State, they should have been abolished long ago, and no doubt would have been, but for the circumstance that the immediate sufferers are comparatively few in number.

The hop gardens of Kent not only provide the brewer with the best hops, but, as each autumn comes round, afford to some thirty thousand or so of the poorer classes living in the densely-populated districts of the east of London a few weeks of country life. The East-Enders, indeed, look upon hop-picking in Kent, Surrey, and Sussex as their particular prerogative, and mix but little with the “home” pickers, who, however, are almost equal to them in numbers.

the grower sends word to the pickers, most of whom have had their names down for a bin, or a basket, for weeks or even months previously. In Mid Kent “bins” are used. These consist of an oblong framework of wood supported on legs, and to which a piece of sackcloth is fastened. The bins are divided down the centres, so that two families may pick into one bin. At certain times in the day the hops in each bin are measured and the number of bushels credited to the pickers. In East Kent baskets are used; these contain distinct marks for each bushel, so that the labour of measuring is dispensed with. From the baskets the hops are emptied into sacks and carried to the oast house to be dried. This is a simple operation. The oast house is a square brick building with a chimney of large size in the centre of the roof. The hops are {93} laid on cloths stretched between beams. The necessary heat is obtained from a brick fireplace which is open at the top. After having been sufficiently baked, the hops are allowed to cool, and are then put into pockets, i.e., long sacks, stamped down as tightly as possible, and are ready for the market.

As in Chaucer’s time pilgrims wound their way through the garden of England, so now do pilgrims, but with different object, tramp along the dusty highway or shady lane into that beautiful country. In Chaucer’s time the monasteries provided food and shelter for the pilgrims; but now they in most part are content with the blue sky or spreading branch of tree as a roof, and hedge-row for a wall. If the weather be but reasonably fine, the life of these latter-day pilgrims is not a hard one, for the balmy country air, the soft turf and beautiful surroundings must seem to these poor creatures a kind of paradise after the dens of filth, disease, and darkness from which they have come.

Not pleasant company are these pilgrims. As a rule they are uncleanly, their habits coarse, their language foul, and their morality doubtful. Many persons in Kent prefer to lose several pounds rather than let their children go into the fields and associate with the mixed company from the East-End. Poor people! they are after all what their circumstances have made them; a sweep can hardly be blamed for having a black face. A few years since men, women, and children all slept together indiscriminately in barns and outhouses. Now, as regards sleeping accommodation, there have been changes for the better,

The high road from London to the hopfields of Kent presents a curious appearance immediately before the hop-picking season. A stranger might imagine that the poorer classes of a big city were flying {94} before an invading army. Grey-haired, decrepit old men and women are to be seen crawling painfully along, their stronger sons and daughters pressing on impatiently. Children by the dozens, some fresh and leaping for very joy at the green fields and sunshine, others crying from fatigue, for the road is long and dusty. Nearly all these people carry sacks or baskets, or bundles, and some even push hand carts laden with clothing, rags, and odds and ends. Most of these folk are careless, merry people, and beguile the way as did Chaucer’s pilgrims, with many a coarse jest, but here and there will be seen some hang-dog bloated-faced ruffian tramping doggedly along, a discontented weary woman dragging slowly a few yards in his rear, as likely as not carrying a half-starved sickly child in her shawl. Such as these cause the coming of the hop-pickers to be regarded with anything but satisfaction in country districts, and at such time householders are doubly careful to see that their windows and doors are properly barred. But the majority of the pickers are well-behaved according to their lights, and guilty at most of a little rough horseplay towards the solitary traveller or among themselves.

Towards evening the pickers cease their tramp, and take up their quarters for the night in woodland copse, or under hedge-row or sheltering bank. Baskets, sacks, and hand carts are unpacked, and here and there will be seen a whole family seated round a blazing wood fire, over which boils the family kettle. Others, less fortunate in having no family circle to join, betake themselves to more secluded quarters to munch the lump of bread of which their supper consists.

About half the pickers are taken into Kent by special trains, a larger number, as might be expected, returning that way. The secretaries of the South Eastern and London and Chatham Railway Companies have very kindly furnished us with a few figures on the subject. In 1882—the bad year for hops—the S.E.R. Company only carried 173 pickers to the fields, and 3,094 on the return journeys; but in previous years the numbers varied from 6,000 to 17,000 on the outgoing journey, and 9,000 to 19,000 on the return journey. Last year the L.C. & D.R. Company carried 1,785 pickers to the fields, and brought back 4,035.

ANCIENT AND CURIOUS LAWS RELATING TO THE MANUFACTURE AND SALE OF ALE AND BEER.

INGS, Par­lia­ments and Lo­cal Au­thor­i­ties have, from very early times up to the pre­sent, more or less in­ter­fered with the pro­duc­tion and sale of al­co­ho­lic li­quors. As a rule, the laws and reg­u­la­tions made by them had the be­nev­o­lent object of pre­serving the pub­lic health and pocket, but to modern notions they ap­pear for the most part arb­i­trary and vex­a­tious enact­ments which un­duly op­pressed an im­por­tant industry.

Before dealing with the many early references to laws concerning the brewing and sale of ale, it will be interesting to notice a few of the curious regulations to be found in the Canons of ancient religious orders enjoining sobriety on the members of their communities. Almost, if not quite, the earliest of the kind is attributed to St. Gildas the Wise, who lived towards the close of the sixth century, and is to the effect that, if any monk through drinking too freely gets thick of speech, so that he cannot join in the psalmody, he is to be deprived of his supper.

The Canons of St. David’s contain further rules on the same matter. Priests about to minister in the temple of God, and drinking wine or strong drink through negligence, and not ignorance, must do penance three days. If they have been warned, and despise, then forty days. Those who get drunk from ignorance must do penance fifteen days; if through negligence, forty days; if through contempt, three {97} quarantains. He who forces another to get drunk out of hospitality, must do penance as though he had got drunk himself. But he who out of hatred or wickedness, in order to disgrace or mock at others, forces them to get drunk, if he has not already sufficiently done penance, must do penance as a murderer of souls.

That these restrictions were not confined to clerics may be seen from the decree of Theodore, seventh Archbishop of Canterbury (A.D. 668–693), that if a Christian layman drink to excess, he must do a fifteen-days’ penance.

King Edgar seems to have gone nearer to the programme of the United Kingdom Alliance. Strutt says of him that under the guidance of Dunstan he put down many alehouses, suffering only one to exist in a village. He also ordered that pegs should be fastened in the drinking horns at intervals, that whosoever drank beyond these marks at one draught should be liable to punishment. We find, however, that this last-mentioned device defeated its own end, and became a provocative of drinking, so that in 1102, Anselm decreed, “Let no priest go to drinking bouts, nor drink to pegs (ad pinnas).” The custom was called pin-drinking or pin-nicking, and is the origin of the phrase, “He is in a merry pin,” and, doubtless, also of the expression, “Taking him down a peg.”

The peg-tankards, as they were called, contained two quarts, and were divided into eight draughts by means of these pegs; they passed from hand to hand, and each must drink it down one peg, no more, no less, under pain of fine.

In a code of Dunstan, for the regulation of the religious orders, were further injunctions to the priesthood, in which it was enjoined that no drinking be allowed in the Church, that men should be temperate at Church-wakes, that a priest should beware of drunkenness, and should in no wise be an ale-scop (i.e., a reciter at an ale-house). If we may believe the strange story of St. Dunstan, as recorded by the graphic pen of the author of the Ingoldsby Legends, we shall have little difficulty in accounting for the Saint’s abhorrence of strong drink. The legend is a good illustration of the maxim, “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.” Lay-brother Peter discovers that the Saint’s miraculous powers are due to his magical control over a broomstick, and that, on his uttering certain mystic words, the broomstick is compelled to do his bidding. Lay-brother Peter determines to apply his knowledge of the broomstick’s powers to his own temporal advantage. Having spoken the mystic words, {98}

Alas! too literally the broomstick obeys the command; and the poor lay-brother, not having at command the spell that may compel the broomstick to desist, “after floating a while like a toast in a tankard,” is at last overwhelmed, and perishes in the brown flood he has so incautiously called up.

However, the impression made upon the good Saint’s mind was indelible, and has left its traces in the regulations made by him relating to drunkenness.

Elfric’s Canons, also, are directed towards putting down the custom of drinking in churches. They lay down that men ought not to drink and eat immoderately in churches, for “men often act so absurdly as to sit up by night, and drink to madness in God’s house.”

Some of the earliest laws directed against a particular custom in which ale figured as the principal beverage, were the prohibitions to be met with in the records of the 13th century with regard to what were called scot-ales. A scot-ale was a meeting for the purpose of consuming ale, and its name was derived from the fact that the drinkers divided40 the expenses of the entertainment amongst them. These feasts were forbidden in the reign of King John by Fitz-piers and Peter of Winchester, the regents of the kingdom, on the ground that they were made occasions for extortion. The forests, which then spread over great tracts of country, were not subject to the common law, but to the laws of the forest only, and we are told that the foresters and their minions not only set up ale-houses, but even compelled people living near to come in and join in scot-ales, for the sake of the revenue accruing therefrom. In 1256 Giles of Bridport, Bishop of Salisbury, {99} interdicted scot-ales, and commanded rectors, vicars, and other parish priests to exhort their parishioners that they violate not rashly the prohibition. In certain places the term scot-ale was used to denote one of the services paid by tenants to the lord or his bailiff on the periodical tour of inspection, and Bracton mentions that the Itinerant Justices were directed to inquire whether any viscounts or bailiffs brew their own ale, “which they call scot-ale or filct-ale,” for the purpose of extorting money from the tenants.

Somewhat similar in practice, though distinct in origin and in the purpose of their institution, were the festivals called Bede-ales. These curious celebrations are described in Prynne’s Canterburie’s Doome (1646) as public meetings, “when an honest man decayed in his fortune is set up again by the liberal benevolence and contribution of friends at a feast; but this is laid aside at almost every place.” The custom somewhat reminds one of the saying that the British are wont to drink themselves out of debt, an allusion, of course, to the enormous revenue collected on malt and other liquors. We must suppose, however, that the practice of bede-ale was abused; the more generous and kindly-hearted a man might be, the more tipsy he would have to make himself in order to help his unfortunate “decayed” friend in the manner prescribed. Accordingly we find in ancient records prohibitions of this custom. One such may be cited from the records of the Borough of Newport, Isle of Wight: “Atte the Lawday holden here in the 8th day of October, the second yeare of the Reigne of King Edward the iiijth in the time of William Bokett and Henry Pryer, Bayliffs, Thomas Capford and William Spring, Constables, it is enacted furthermore that none hereafter, whether Burgesse or any other dweller or inhabitant, within this Towne aforesaid, shall make or procure to bee made, any Ale, commonly called Bede-Ale, within the liberty, nor within this Towne or without, upon payne of looseing xxd. to be payde to the Keeper of the Common Box.”

About the time of Henry III., we begin to find mention in the records of the period, of persistent attempts to fix the prices of bread and ale. Laws made with this end in view were termed collectively the Assisa Panis et Cervisiæ (i.e., The Assize of Bread and Ale). In the fifty-first year of that reign, we find it enacted that when a quarter of wheat is sold for iiis. or iiis. ivd., and a quarter of barley for xxd. or iis., and a quarter of oats for xvid., then brewers (braciatores) in cities ought, and may well afford, to sell two gallons of ale for a penny, and out of cities to sell three or four gallons for the same sum. By a statute {100} passed in the same year it is enacted that if a baker or a brewster41 (braciatrix) be convicted, because he or she hath not observed the Assise of Bread and Ale, the first, second, or third time, he or she shall be amerced according to the offence, if it be not over grievous; but if the offence be grievous and often, and will not be corrected, then he or she shall suffer corporal punishment, to wit, the Baker to the pillory, the brewster to the tumbrel (a cart for ignominious punishment), or to flogging. (The illustration represents a woman undergoing the punishment

of the tumbrel, and is taken from the MS. Cent Nouvelles in the Hunterian Library.) A jury of six lawful men is to be summoned in every township, who are to be sworn faithfully to collect all measures of the town, to wit, bushels, half and quarter bushels, gallons, pottles and quarts, as well from taverns as from other places. The jurymen are to inquire how the assise of bread has been kept, and adjudge accordingly; they are then to inquire of the assise of Ale in the Court of the Town, what it is, and whether it has been observed; and if {101} not, they are to inquire what brewsters have sold contrary to the assises and they shall present their names distinctly and openly, and adjudge them to be fined or to the tumbrel.

By another statute, of rather uncertain date, but passed about this period, it is enacted that the standard of bushels, gallons, and ells (standardum busselli galonis et ulne) is to be marked with an Iron Seale of our Lord the King, and safe kept, under pain of £100, and no measure is to be used in any town unless it do agree with the King’s measure, and be marked with the seal of the shire town; and if any do sell or buy by measures unsealed, and not examined by the Mayor or Bailiffs, he shall be grievously amerced and all the measures of every Town, both great and small, shall be viewed and examined twice in the year; and if any be convict for a double measure, to wit, a greater for to buy with, and a lesser for to sell with, he shall be imprisoned for his falsehood (tanquam falsarius) and shall be grievously punished.

The manner in which the various standard measures of capacity were arrived at is worthy of mention. It is enacted that: “One English penny, called a stirling, round and without any clipping, shall weigh twenty-two wheat corns in the midst of the ear, and twenty pence shall make an ounce, and twelve ounces a pound, and eight pounds shall make a gallon of wine, and eight gallons of wine shall make one bushel London, and eight bushels one quarter.”

We are glad to observe that a subsequent statute was passed which provided that both the pillory, or stretch-neck (collistrigium) as it was called, and also the tumbrel, must be of suitable strength, so that offenders might be punished without bodily peril.

The collistrigium given below is taken from an old drawing in the City Records, temp. Ed. III.

In the City of London the com­par­a­tive se­ver­i­ty of the punish­ments of the fraud­u­lent baker and brewer seems to have been the re­verse of that or­dained by sta­tute; the baker suf­fered the heavier penalty, being con­demned to what was called the “judicium claye,” or con­dem­na­tion to the hur­dle, which, as de­scribed in the Liber Albus, was cer­tain­ly a most un­pleas­ant form of pun­ish­ment. On con­vic­tion for sel­ling short weight the de­fault­ing ba­ker was to be drawn upon a hurdle from the Guild­hall to his own house, “through the great streets where there be most people {102} as­sembled, and through the great streets that are most dirty.” The illus­tra­tion is taken from the Assissa Panis (temp. Edw. I.), preserved among the City Records. The defaulting brewer or brewster, in the reign of Edw. III., for the first offence was to forfeit the ale, for the second to forswear the mistier (the mystery or art of brewing), and on the third offence to forswear the City for ever. However, the

penalties varied from time to time, for in the reign of Henry V., when the Liber Albus was compiled, the punishment of a brewster convicted of selling ale contrary to the assize was, that for the first offence she was to be fined 10s., for the second 20s., and for the third that she should suffer the “punishment provided for her in Westchepe,” which would probably be the tumbrel or the pillory. Some confusion as to the appropriate punishment occasionally arose. In 1257, Sir Hugh Bygot, as Grafton’s Chronicle tells us, “came to the Guylde-hall, and kept his Court and Plees there, without all order of law, and contrary to the libertyes of the citie, and there punished the bakers for lack of size by the tombrell, where beforetymes they were punished by the Pillorye.”

Offending brewers and bakers, in some places, suffered on the Cucking Stool. In the Borrow Lawes of Scotland, speaking of Browsters (“Wemen quha brewes aill to be sauld,”) it is said, “Gif she makes gude ail, that is sufficient. Bot gif she makes euel ail, contrair to the use and consuetude of the burg, and is convict thereof, she sall pay ane unlaw of aucht shillinges, or sal suffer the justice of the brugh, that is, she sall be put upon the Cock- stule, and the aill sall be distributed to the pure folke.”

In April, 1745, an ale-wife of Kingston-on-Thames was ducked in the river, for scolding, in the presence of two thousand or more people.

The following extracts from the old Assembly Books of Great {103} Yarmouth give some idea of the powers possessed by corporate bodies for the regulation of trade in olden times:―

“Friday before Palm Sunday, 7 Edwd. VI. Agreed that no inhabitant shall buy any beer to sell again but such as was brewed in the town, under pain of 6s. 8d. a barrel.

“Feb. 14. 1 Philip and Mary, 1554. M. Swansey, of Hickling, being a foreigner, bought of a merchant stranger certain hopps—the buyer to forfeit the Hopps, and he may buy them again of the Chamberlain.

“March 19. 1 Mary, 1554. No inhabitant shall buy nor no ship shall receive any beer brewed out of the town, under a penalty of 3s. 4d. per gallon.

“July 2. 1 Philip and Mary, 1554. No baker or brewer to bake or brewe in the town unless appointed by the bailiffs.

“Apl. 8. 15 Eliz., 1573. That brewers be ordered to brew with coals instead of wood, from the latter’s exhorbitant price.”

The Articles of the Free Fair (1658) held at Great Yarmouth, contain the following regulation:―

“Also that no brewer selle nor doe to be solde, a gallon of the beste ale above two pence: a gallon of the second ale above one pennye uppon the payne and perrille above sayde.”

The records of the old municipal corporations of England that have survived the destroying hand of time are very few, but it can hardly be doubted that they contained very similar regulations to those given above. In the Domesday Book of Ipswich an order of the reign of Edward I. provides as to Brewsters, that “after Michelmesse moneth, whan men may have barlych of newe greyn, the ballyves of the forseid toun doo cryen assize of ale by all the toun, after that the sellyng of the corn be. And gif ther be founden ony that selle or brewe a geyns the assise and the crye, be he punysshed be the forseyed ballyves and by the court for the trespas, after the form conteyned in the Statute of merchaundise (13 Edw. I., s. 3) of oure lord the kyng, and after law and usage of the same toun.”

Ricart’s Kalendar of the City of Bristol contains the following record: “Item, hit hath be usid, in semblable wyse, the seid maire anon aftir Mighelmas, to do calle byfore theym in the seide Counseill hous, all the Brewers of Bristowe; and yf the case require that malt be scant and dere, then to commen there for the reformacion of the same, and to bryng malte to a lower price, and that such price as shall be sette by the maier upon malte, that no brewer breke it, upon payne of XLs. forfeitable {104} to the Chambre of the Toune. And the shyftyng42 daies of the woke, specially the Wensdaies and Satirdaies, the mair hath be used to walke in the morenynges to the Brewers howses, to oversee thym in servyng of theire ale to the pouere commens of the toune, and that they have theire trewe mesures; and his Ale-konner with hym to taste and undirstand that the ale be gode, able, and sety keeping their sise, or to be punyshed for the same, aftir the constitucion of the Toune.”

Sometimes a whole township was fined for the default of some of its members. In 1275 the township of Dunstable was fined 40s., because the brewers had not kept the assize.

Some curious and amusing entries are to be found in the Munimenta Academica of the University of Oxford, as to the regulations for the brewing trade in the fifteenth century. In the year 1434 we find it recorded that, “Seeing how great evils arise both to the clerks and to the townsmen of the City of Oxford, owing to the negligence and dishonesty of the brewers of ale,” Christopher Knollys, commissary, assembles the brewers together in the church of the Blessed Mary the Virgin, and commands them to provide sufficient malt for brewing; and that two or three shall twice or thrice in the week carry round their ale for public sale, under a penalty of 40s.; and John Weskew and Nicholas Core, two of their number, are appointed supervisors of the brewers. Each brewer is then made to swear on the Blessed Evangelists to brew good ale and wholesome, and according to the assize, “so far as his ability and human frailty permits.”

It would appear that very considerable disorders prevailed in that ancient seat of learning at this period. The Warden of Canterbury College, for instance, is accused of having incited his scholars to make a raid upon the ale of other scholars of the town, which they accordingly did, and carried off ale to the value of 12d.

The fair brewsters of the period seem to have held much the same ideas as to the relative importance of the patronage of Town and Gown as a fashionable Oxford tailor of the present day may be supposed to entertain. In 1439 Alice Everarde is suspended “ab arte pandoxandi” (from practising brewing) for ever, because she refused to brew ale for sale for the common people of Oxford.

In 1444 the brewers were made to swear before the Chancellor that they would brew wholesome ale, and in such manner that the water {105} should boil until it emitted a froth, that they would skim the froth away, and that they would give the ale sufficient time to settle before they sold it in the University; and Richard Benet swore that he would let his ale stand twelve hours to clear, before he carried it to hall or college, and that he would not mix the dregs with the ale when he carried it for sale within the University.

In 1449 the stewards and manciples of the college swear that nine of the brewers have broken the assize and have brewed “an ale of little or no strength, to the grave and no mean damage of the University and Town, and that they are obstinate and rebels and refuse to serve the Principals and others of the Halls with ale.” In 1464 John Janyn is ordered by the Commissary to refund to Anisia Barbour, without the east gate of Oxford, the sum of 8d., because he had sold her a cask of ale for 20d., and “in our opinion and that of others who have just tasted it, it is not worth more than 12d.”

The sister University exercised a similar jurisdiction over the brewing trade, and it is mentioned in Rymer’s Fœdera (R. 2. 934) that in the year 1336, on a petition of the Chancellor and scholars of the University of Cambridge, the ancient privilege of the University, that, on the demand of the Chancellor, the Mayor and bailiffs should make trial or assize of the bread or ale, was restored. A curious survival of the municipal jurisdiction over the vendors of Cambridge ale is recorded in Hone’s Every-Day Book, as existing at the annual fair on Stourbridge Common during the latter half of last century: “Besides the eight servants called red coats, who are employed as constables attendant upon the Mayor of Cambridge, who held a court of justice during the fair, there was another person dressed in similar clothing, with a string over his shoulders, from whence were suspended spigots and fossets, and also round each arm many more were fastened. He was called Lord of the Tap, and his duty consisted in visiting all the booths in which ale was sold, to determine whether it was a fit and proper beverage for the persons attending the fair.”

In making the ale of Old England, wheat was frequently malted and used with barley malt. In times of scarcity this practice was now and again forbidden as tending to unduly enhance the price of bread. In 1316, ground malt having risen during the preceding fourteen years from 3s. 4d. to 13s. 4d. the quarter, a proclamation was issued prohibiting the malting of wheat. The regulation, however, was unpopular and difficult to enforce, and wheat continued to be malted and mixed with the more appropriate grain. Receipts of more recent times frequently {106} mention this use of wheat malt. One of these of the sixteenth century is as follows:―

“To brewe beer. 10 quarters of malte, 2 quarters of wheete, 2 quarters of oates, 40 pound weight of hoppys—to make 60 barellys of sengyll beer; the barel of aell contains 32 galones, and the barell of beer 36 gallons.”

The restrictive legislation was not confined to ale, for in 1330 we find it enacted: “Because there are more taverners in the realm than were wont to be, selling as well corrupt wines as wholesome, and have sold the gallon at such price as they themselves would, because there was no punishment ordained for them, as hath been for them that sell bread and ale, to the great hurt of the people,” therefore wine must be sold at a reasonable price. No sum, however, appears to have been fixed, and we can well imagine that the ideas of the innkeeper and his customer might not altogether agree on the question of what was a reasonable price.

Not only was the price of ale fixed, but its strength and quality were also subjected to the experienced taste of the ale-conner, an officer appointed to test the goodness of the brew. The ale-conner’s appellation appears to be derived from his power of conning, i.e., knowing of or judging the liquor, and reminds one of Chaucer’s line:―

The ale-conners were appointed annually in the courts leet of every manor; also in boroughs and towns corporate; and in many places, in compliance with charters and ancient custom, appointments to this office are still made, though the duties have fallen into disuse.

The following is the oath of this ale official, taken from the Liber Albus, compiled in the reign of Henry V. by John Carpenter, clerk, and Richard Whittington, mayor:—“You shall swear, that you shall know of no brewer, or brewster, cook, or pie-baker, in your ward, who sells the gallon of best ale for more than one penny halfpenny, or the gallon of second for more than one penny, or otherwise than by measure sealed and full of clear ale; or who brews less than he used to do before this cry, by reason hereof, or withdraws himself from following his trade the rather by reason of this cry; or if any persons shall do contrary to any one of these points, you shall certify the Alderman of your ward and of their names. And that you, so soon as you shall be required to taste any ale of a brewer or brewster, shall be ready to do the same; and in case that it be less good than it used to be before this cry, you, by assent {107} of your Alderman, shall set a reasonable price thereon, according to your discretion; and if any one shall afterwards sell the same above the said price, unto your Alderman you shall certify the same. And that for gift, promise, knowledge, hate or other cause whatsoever, no brewer, brewster, huckster, cook, or pie-baker, who acts against any one of the points aforesaid, you shall conceal, spare or tortuously aggrieve; nor when you are required to taste ale, shall absent yourself without reasonable cause and true; but all things which unto your office pertains to do, you shall well and lawfully do. So God you help, and the saints.” No doubt this oath was regularly repeated with due solemnity, but we can imagine with what a subtle irony the official described in The Cobler of Canterburie would have repeated the part of the oath having reference to absenting himself when required to taste ale.

Absent himself—not if he knew it!

The ale-conners also had the power of presenting, i.e., accusing at the court leet, any brewer who refused to sell ale to his neighbours though he had some for sale.

The officials who tested ale bore various appellations. At the Court Leet of the Manor of New Buckenham, in Norfolk, the name under which this person was known was the ale-founder. In rolls of the same Manor of earlier date he is called Gustator Cervisiæ. In the records of the Manor Court of Hale in the 15th century, in a list of persons fined, occurs the entry, “Thomas Layet, quia pandocavit semel iid., et quia concelavit le fowndynge pot iiid.;” that is, a fine of 2d. was inflicted because he brewed in some manner contrary to the custom of the manor; as by not putting out his sign when he brewed, or by not summoning the ale-founder to taste the brew as soon as he had finished; and a fine of 3d. because he concealed the “fowndynge” pot, the vessel, probably, in which he had brewed.

In Scrope’s History of Castle Coombe we are told that the rules of that place in reference to the making and sale of ale were numerous and perplexing. No one was permitted to brew ale so long as any church-ale lasted, nor so long as the keeper of the park had any to sell, nor at {108} any time without licence of the lord or court; nor to sell without a sign, or, during the fair, without an ale-stake hung out, nor to ask a higher price for ale than that fixed by the jury of assize, nor to lower the quality below what the ale-tasters approved, nor to sell at times of Divine service, nor after nine o’clock at night, nor to sell at all without entering into a bond for £10, with a surety of £5, to keep orderly houses. The frequent changes in the price allowed show the difficulty the authorities had in settling the problem, how to have good liquor cheap. In the reign of Elizabeth all systematic attempts to set the price of ale seem to have been discontinued. At a court held in May in the tenth year of that queen, the tithing-man reported that “the ale-wyves had broken all the orders of the last laweday.” The court received the announcement in silence, and made no order. The ale-wives had conquered; let us hope they used their victory with discretion.

The practice seems to have prevailed here as elsewhere of compelling a brewer to put out his sign or ale-stake when he had brewed, as a signal to the local ale-conner that his services were required. In 1402 we find that John Lautroppe was presented to the court “quia brasiavit iij vicibus sub uno signo,” i.e., he had brewed three times but had only displayed the legal signal once. The only penalties recorded as being imposed for drunkenness appear to be one in 1618 and one in 1631; but it would hardly be safe to argue that the inhabitants of the district were an exceptionally sober race, for though the manor rolls of Castle Coombe date from 1346, no legislative effort to restrain excess in drinking was made till the reign of James I., and such laws were always highly unpopular, and were very sparingly or not at all enforced.

Kitchen, in his work on Courts (1663), in writing of courts leet, says:—“Also if tapsters sell by cups and dishes, or measures, sealed or un­sealed, is en­quir­able.” It is noted in Dr. Lang­baine’s col­lec­tions, under January 23, 1617, that John Shurle had a patent from Arthur Lake, Bishop of Bath and Wells and Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, for the office of ale-taster (to the University). The office required “that he go to every ale-brewer that day they brew, according to their courses, and taste their ale; for which his ancient fee is one gallon of strong ale, and two gallons of less strong worth a penny.”

In some places the office of ale-conner still survives. The appointment of four ale-conners for the City of London is said to date as far back as the first charter of William the Conqueror. Originally they were elected by the folkesmote, afterwards at the wardmote, and from the time of Henry V. till the present day by the livery. We have before us an extract from a daily paper of the 16th September, 1884, in which is recorded the appointment of an ale-taster for the ancient borough of Christchurch.

The following curious application was made in the year 1864 to the manorial court of the Duke of Buccleuch:—“To the Manorial Court of the Right Hon. Walter Francis, Duke of Buccleuch and Queensbury, sitting at Haslingden, this 18th day of October, 1864.—This is to give notice to your honourable court, that I, Richard Taylor, by appointment for the last five years Ale-taster for that part of her Majesty’s dominions called Rossendale, do hereby tender my resignation to hold that office after this day, as I am wishful, while young and active, and as my talents are required in another sphere of usefulness, to devote them to that purpose. For five successive years your honourable court has done me the honour of electing me to the above office, which I have held, and performed the duties thereof efficiently, and without disgrace. Having won your confidence by holding this office, at a late sitting of your honourable court it pleased you to appoint me bellman for Bacup, and while I resign the former office, am wishful to hold my connexion with his Grace the Duke Francis Walter, to continue to cry aloud as bellman for Bacup, and, as heretofore, to cry for nothing for those who have nothing to pay with. Given under our hand and seal this 18th day of October, in the year of our Lord 1864. Signed, Richard Taylor, Ale-taster for Rossendale. God save the Queen.”

As early as the days of Edward I. attempts were made to bring about the early closing of taverns; but the authorities seem to have moved rather in the interests of peace than of temperance. {110}

In a preamble to a statute passed in that reign it is stated that “offenders, going about during the night, do commonly resort and have their meetings and evil talk in taverns more than elsewhere, lying in wait and watching their time to do mischief.” It is therefore enacted that taverns are to be closed at the tolling of the curfew bell. And if any taverner does otherwise, he shall be put on his surety, the first time by the hanap (a two-handled tankard, sometimes of silver) of his tavern, or by some other good pledge therein found, and fined 40d., with various cumulative punishments for successive offences until on the fifth conviction he shall forswear such trade in the City for ever.

In the year 1455 it was enacted “that no person that in the County of Kent shall commonly brew any ale or beer to sell, shall make nor do to be made any malt in his house, or in any other place to his own use, at his costs and expences above an C quarters in the year, under penalty of x li., and this statute is to be in force for the space of 5 years.” This act appears to have been passed to protect the maltsters of other places from the competition of the Kentish men. An act was passed in 1496 “against vacabonds and beggars,” which directs two justices of the peace to “rejecte and put away comen ale-selling in townes and places where they shall think convenyent, and to take suertie of the keepers of ale-houses of their gode behavyng, by the discrecion of the seid justices, and in the same to be avysed and aggreed at the time of their sessions.”

In 1531 brewers were forbidden to take more than such prices and rates as should be thought sufficient, at the discretion of the justices of the peace within every shire, or by the mayor and sheriffs in a city.

By 5 and 6 Edward VI. c. 25, entitled “An Act for Keepers of Ale-houses to be bounde by Recognizances,” it is enacted that “forasmuch as intolerable hurts and troubles to the commonwealth do daily grow and increase through such abuses and disorders as are had and used in common ale-houses, the Justices of the Peace are authorized to close such houses at their discretion.” And we find later, in Elizabeth’s time, that Lord Keeper Egerton, in his charge to the judges when going on circuit, bade them ascertain, for the Queen’s information, how many ale-houses the justices of the peace had pulled down, so that the good justices might be rewarded and the evil removed. Surely the advocates for total suppression of the sale of alcoholic drinks were born some two or three centuries too late! A quaint jingle, entitled “Skelton’s Ghost,” which may be attributed to some post-Elizabethan rhymer, contains an allusion to the legal price of ale. {111}

The views of a cozening hostess of the period are amusingly set forth in a quaint old ballad taken from the Roxburghe collection, a portion of which finds place on the following page.

The varying prices and qualities of ale and beer, as sanctioned by legal authority, have been so fully treated of in another part of this work (Chapter VIII.) that it is not necessary to dwell further upon the subject.

In the year 1531, brewers were forbidden to make the barrels in which their ale was sold. The reason for this extraordinary prohibition is thus given in the quaint words of the preamble of the act:—“Whereas the ale-brewers and beer-brewers of this realm of England have used, and daily do use, for their own singular lucre, profit, and gain, to make in their own houses their barrels, kilderkins, and firkins, of much less quantity than they ought to be, to the great hurt, prejudice, and damage of the King’s liege people, and contrary to divers acts, statutes, ancient laws and customs heretofore made, had, and used, and to the destruction of the poor craft and mystery of coopers,” therefore no beer-brewer or {113} ale-brewer is to “occupy . . . the mystery or craft of coopers.” The coopers are commanded to make every barrel, which is intended to contain beer for sale, of the capacity of xxxvi. gallons; ale barrels, however, are to contain but xxxii. gallons, and so in proportion for smaller vessels. The wardens of the coopers are empowered to search for illegal vessels, and to mark every correct vessel with “the sign and token of St. Anthony’s cross.” This cross is possibly the origin of the X, double X and treble X now in use upon casks. A correspondent of Notes and Queries, however, thinks that the letter X on brewers’ casks is probably thus derived:—Simplex—single X or X. Duplex—double X or XX. Triplex—treble X or XXX. This was suggested by Owen’s epigram, lib. xii. 34.

From early times laws concerning our exports and imports were considered as specially appertaining to the royal prerogative. Corn and malt, ale and beer, could only be exported by royal licence. This is instanced by the order of Edward III., in 1366, to the ports of London, Sandwich, Bristol, Southampton, and eight other places:―

“The King, to the collectors of customs in the port of London, Greeting.

“We command you, that all merchants and others, who wish to export corn, malt, ale, and other victuals, be allowed, after first taking an oath or some other sufficient security from them, to export such things to our town of Calais and to other of our possessions, but not elsewhere.”

In later times a considerable revenue was raised for the Crown by the profits of these export licences. In the reign of Edward VI. the export of beer was regulated by an act (1543) which provides that no larger vessel than a barrel was to be used for export purposes, under fine of 6s. 8d., and that every exporter should give security for importing so much “clapboard” as would be an equivalent for the barrels he took out of the country. Queen Elizabeth jealously guarded the prerogative in this matter, and in her thrifty way seems to have made a pretty penny from the licences. English beer had at that time become widely famed, and could be obtained in foreign parts, as may be learnt by a letter from Charles Paget to Walsingham (1582), in which he announces that he is going to Rouen for his health, and intends to drink English beer. {114}

In 1572, Thomas Cantata, a Venetian, sought permission to export 200 tuns of beer, on condition of his making known to her Majesty certain inventions useful for the defence of the realm. In the same year one Th. Smith had licence to export 4,000 tuns of beer.

In 1586, Th. Cullen, of Maldon, Essex, applies to the Council by letter in which he asks, as a recompense for having discovered Mr. Mantell, a traitor, that he may have a licence as a free victualler for twenty-one years, or a licence to transport 400 tuns of beer, or else to have £40 in money. Even noblemen engaged in the export trade, for in 1603, licence was granted to Lord Aubigny to export 6,000 tuns of double beer.

The power of granting licences to inns and ale-houses in the days of Elizabeth and her immediate successors, was frequently given by letters patent to favourites or to persons prepared to pay for the privilege. In 1590 Wm. Carr received a licence for seven years, to give leave to any persons in London and Westminster to brew beer for sale. The abuses that grew out of this system formed one of the grievances examined into by Parliament in 1621.

A statute was passed in the fourth year of James I. enacting that “whereas the loathsome and odious sin of drunkenness is of late grown into common use, being the root and foundation of many other enormous sins, as bloodshed, etc., to the great dishonour of God and of our nation, the overthrow of many good arts, and manual trades, the disabling of divers good workmen, and the general impoverishment of many good subjects, abusively wasting the good creatures of God,” a fine of five shillings is imposed for drunkenness, together with six hours in the stocks. Some attempt had been previously made at legislation in this direction. In Townsend’s Historical Collections (1680) an account is found under date Tuesday, November 3rd, 1601, of a debate on a Bill to restrain the Excess and Abuse used in Victualling Houses. Mr. Johnson moved, that “bodily punishment might be inflicted on Alehouse keepers that should be offenders, and that provision be made to restrain Resort to Alehouses.” In the same bill Sir George Moore spoke against drunkenness, and desired “some special provision should be made against it;” and, “touching the Authority of Justices of the Assize and of the Peace, given by this bill, That they shall assign Inns, and Inn Keepers. I think that inconvenient: for an Inn is a man’s inheritance, and they are set at great rates, and therefore, not to be taken away from any particular man.” The attempt of James who, to tell the truth, was himself not by any means free from “the loathsome and hideous sin,” to {115} make his subjects sober by compulsion, seems to have met with but poor success, for in 1609 another statute was passed which, while confessing that, “notwithstanding all former laws and provisions already made, the inordinate and extreme vice of excessive drinking and drunkenness doth more and more abound,” enacts that a person convicted under the former act shall be deprived of his licence for the space of three years. In 1627 a fine of twenty shillings and a whipping is imposed for keeping an ale-house without a licence.

Drunkenness seems to have been prosecuted with some severity during the Commonwealth time, and the entries in the records of convictions for being “drunk in my view” would seem to point to the fact that the offenders were haled before the judgment seat ere the effects of their debauches had passed away.

As early as the middle of the fifteenth century some attempts were made to bring about “Sunday closing.” They seem to have taken the form, for the most part, of bye-laws of corporations, and to have been generally unsuccessful. In 1428 the corporation of Hull prohibited the vintners and ale-house keepers from delivering or selling ale upon the Sunday, under penalty of 6s. 8d. for sellers and 3s. 4d. for buyers. In 1444 an act was made by the Common Council of London “that upon the Sunday should no manner of thing within the franchise of the City be bought or sold, neither victual nor other things.” The attempt was apparently unsuccessful, as we are told that “it held but a while,” but it was renewed from time to time in some form or other. In 1555 an order was made by the Privy Council of Queen Mary, and directed to the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of the City of London, whereby taverns, ale or beer houses, &c., are directed to be closed on “Sondaye, or other festeyvall or hollye daye duringe all the severall tymes of mattyns, highe masse, and evynsonge, or of eny sermon to be songe or sayde within their severall parishe Churches upon payne of ymprysonmente, as well of the boddyes of every suche howseholder, as also of the boddyes of every suche persone as shall so presume to eate or drynke.” A hundred years later many entries occur in parish and other records of penalties for Sunday drinking.

The books of St. Giles’ parish furnish the following extracts:―

In 1641, an amusing pamphlet was published on the subject of Sunday closing. Its title, frontispiece, and an extract from its contents are given on the opposite page.

About this period was in vogue that curious old form of punish­ment which was known as the drunkard’s, or Newcastle, cloak. This gar­ment was noth­ing more nor less than a beer bar­rel, worn in the man­ner shown in the ac­comp­any­ing il­lus­tra­tion. Possibly the in­ven­tor of sand­wich men de­rived his idea from this source.

Locke, in his second letter on Tol­er­a­tion, informs us that the in­tol­er­ance of the age with regard to Dis­sent was car­ried to such length that hardly any walk in life was free from ob­sta­cles thrown in the way of Dis­sent­ers pursuing it. Amongst other things he men­tions that those who had licences to sell ale were compelled to receive the Sac­ra­ment ac­cord­ing to the rites of the Church of England. We are unable to find in con­temp­orary records any con­fir­mation of this alleged regulation.

Efforts were made by the brewers from time to time to bring about an alteration in the law restricting the quality of beer to two sorts, the strong and the small. The Brewers’ Plea or a Vindication of Strong Beer, London, 1647, thus gives the views of the brewers on the advantages to be obtained by allowing stronger beer to be brewed:—“For of hops and malt, our native commodities (and therefore the more agreeable to the constitutions of our native inhabitants), may be made such strong beer (being well boiled and hopped, and kept its full time) as that {118} it may serve instead of Sack, if authority shall think fit, whereby they may also know experimentally the virtue of those creatures, at their full height; which beer being well brewed, of a low, pure amber colour, clear and sparkling, noblemen and the gentry may be pleased to have English Sack in their wine cellars, and taverns also to sell to those who are not willing, or cannot conveniently lay it in their own houses; which may be a means greatly to increase and improve the tillage of England, and also the profitable plantations of hop grounds . . . and produce at lesser rates (than wines imported) such good strong beer as shall be most cherishing to poor labouring people, without which they cannot well subsist; their food being for the most part of such things as afford little or bad nourishment, nay, sometimes dangerous; and would infect them with many sicknesses and diseases, were they not preserved (as with an antidote) with good beer, whose virtues and effectual operations, by help of the hop well boiled in it, are more powerful to expel poisonous infections than is yet publicly known, or taken notice of.”

Another ineffectual plea, somewhat later in date, may be here mentioned. In The grand concern of England explained in several proposals to the consideration of the Parliament, London, 1673, petition is made to Parliament that legislation of a protective nature may be granted to the brewers’ trade. The proposal is “That Brandy, Coffee, Mum, Tea, and Chocolate may be prohibited,” for these greatly hinder the consumption of Barley, Malt, and Wheat, the product of our land.

“But the prohibition of Brandy would be otherwise advantageous to the Kingdom, and prevent the destruction of his majesty’s subjects; many of whom have been killed by drinking thereof, it not agreeing with their constitutions.

“Before brandy (which is now become common and sold in every little alehouse) came over into England in such quantities as it now doth, we drank good strong beer and ale; and all laborious people (which are far the greatest part of the Kingdom), their bodies requiring, after hard labour, some strong drink to refresh them, did therefore every morning and evening use to drink a pot of ale, or a flagon of strong beer; which greatly promoted the consumption of our own grain, and did them no great prejudice; it hindered not their work, neither did it take away their senses, nor cost them much money.”

This petition, like the last, seems to have been of no effect, for we find these “destructive” drinks, brandy, coffee, tea, and chocolate, still in use in this country, and not yet prohibited by law. {119}

BREWING AND MALTING IN EARLY TIMES. — THE ALE-WIVES. — THE BREWERS OF OLD LONDON AND THE BREWERS’ COMPANY. — ANECDOTES. — QUAINT EPITAPHS.

T seemeth well that before we record the doings of departed brewers, brewsters, and ale-wives, a page or so should be devoted to the two principal ingredients—malt and water—used by those ancient worthies in compounding their “merrie-goe-downe.”

Old Fuller thus moralizes on the art of malting:—“Though commonness causeth contempt, excellent the Art of first inventing thereof. I confesse it facile to make Barley Water, an invention which found out itself, with little more than the joyning of the ingredients together. But to make mault for Drink, was a masterpiece indeed. How much of Philosophy concurred to the first Kill of Mault, and before it was turned on the floor, how often was it toss’d in the brain of the first inventor thereof. First, to give it a new growth more than the earth had bestowed thereon. Swelling it in water to make it last the longer by breaking it, and taste the sweeter by corrupting it. Secondly, by making it to passe the fire, the grain (by Art fermented) {121} acquiring a lusciousnesse (which by nature it had not) whereby it doth both strengthen and sweeten the water wherein it is boyled.”

Those practically engaged in the production of our English national drink, whether maltsters or brewers, will no doubt be interested to compare the art of malting as it was carried on three hundred years ago in this country, with the more familiar processes of to-day. A description of malting in the sixteenth century is given by Harrison. “Our drinke,” he says, “whose force and continuance is partlie touched alreadie, is made of barleie, water and hops, sodden and mingled together, by the industrie of our bruers, in a certain exact proportion. But before our barleie doo come unto their hands, it susteineth great alteration, and is converted into malt, the making whereof I will here set downe in such order as my skill therein may extend unto. . . Our malt is made all the yeare long in some great townes, but in gentlemen’s and yeomen’s houses, who commenlie make sufficient for their owne expenses onelie, the winter half is thought most meet for that commoditie, howbeit the malt which is made when the willow doth bud, is commonlie worst of all, nevertheless each one indeuereth to make it of the best barleie, which is steeped in a cesterne, in greater or less quantitie, by the space of three daies and three nights, untill it be thoroughly soaked. This being doone, the water is drained from it by little and little, till it be quite gone. Afterward they take it out and laieng it upon the cleane floore on a round heape, it resteth so until it be readie to shoote at the roote end, which maltsters call ‘comming.’ When it beginneth, therefor, to shoote in this maner, they saie it is ‘come,’ and then foorthwith they spread it abroad, first thick and afterward thinner and thinner upon the said floore (as it commeth) and there it lieth (with turning every day foure or five times) by the space of one and twenty daies at the least, the workemen not suffering it in any wise to take any heat, whereby the bud end should spire, that bringeth foorth the blade, and by which oversight or hurt of the stuffe it selfe the malt would be spoiled, and turne small commoditie to the bruer. When it has gone or been turned so long upon the floore, they carie it to a kill covered with haire cloth, where they give it gentle heats (after they have spread it there verie thin abroad) till it be dry, in the meane while they turne it often that it may be uniformelie dried. For the more it be dried (yet must it be doone with soft fire) the sweeter and better the malt is, and the longer it will continue, whereas if it be not dried downe (as they call it) but slackelie handled, it will breed a kind of worme, called a wivell, which {122} groweth in the floure of the corne, and in processe of time will so eat out it selfe, that nothing shall remaine of the graine but even the verie rind or huske. The best malt is tried by hardnesse and colour for if it looke fresh with a yellow hew and thereto will write like a peece of chalke, after you have bitten a kirnell in sunder in the middest, then you may assure yourselfe that it is dried downe. In some places it is dried at leisure with wood alone, or strawe alone, in other with wood and straw together, but of all the straw dried is the most excellent. For the wood dried malt when it is brued, beside that the drinke is higher of colour, it dooth hurt and annoie the head of him that is not used thereto, bicause of the smoake. Such also as use both indifferentlie doo barke, cleave, and drie their wood in an oven, thereby to remove all moisture that should procure the fume, and this malt is in the second place, and with the same likewise, that which is made with dried firze, broome, &c.: whereas if they also be occupied greene, they are in a maner so prejudicial to the corne as is the moist wood. And thus much of our malts, in bruing whereof some grind the same somewhat groselie, and in seething well the liquor that shall be put unto it, they adde to everie nine quarters of mault one of headcorne, which consisteth of sundrie graine as wheate and otes groond . . .”

Though the reasons which caused one kind of water to be more suitable than another for brewing, were not so well understood in olden days as they are at present, our ancestors had learned in the school of experience that the quality of the water had much to do with the quality of the ale and beer brewed from it. Speaking of brewing, Harrison says: “In this trade also our Bruers observe verie diligentlie the nature of the water, which they dailie occupy, and soile through which it passeth, for all waters are not of like goodnesse, sith the fattest standing water is alwaies the best; for although the waters that run by chalke and cledgie soiles be good, and next unto the Thames water which is the most excellent, yet the water that standeth in either of these is the best for us that dwell in the countrie, as whereon the sunne lyeth longest, and fattest fish are bred. But of all other the fennie and morish is the worst, and the clerist spring water next unto it.”

The silver Thames—very different then from the turbid noisome sewer of to-day—by reason of the excellence of its water, formed the ordinary source of supply for the old London Brewers, many of whom erected their breweries on or near its banks. As early as 1345, however, there seems to have been a tendency on the part of certain brewers to get their water elsewhere. In that year a complaint was made to the {123} authorities on behalf of the Commonalty of the City of London, “that whereas of old a certain conduit” (probably the Cheapside conduit constructed in Henry III.’s reign) “was built in the midst of the City of London, that so the rich and middling persons therein might there have water for preparing their food, and the poor for their drink; the water aforesaid was now so wasted by Brewers and persons keeping brewhouses and making malt, that in these modern times it will no longer suffice for the rich and middling, nor yet for the poor.” In consequence of this state of things, the brewers were forbidden to use the conduit water under penalty, for the first offence to forfeit the tankard or vessel in which the water was carried, on a second conviction to suffer fine, and on the third, imprisonment.

More than four hundred years ago the waters of the Thames were at some states of the tide too turbid for use, and accordingly in the reign of Henry VI., the Wardens of the Brewers’ Company were commanded not to take water for brewing from the Thames when it was disturbed, but to wait till low water and the turn of the tide. In Queen Elizabeth’s reign the Thames was beginning to acquire an evil repute, if we may believe the author of Pierce Penilesse, his supplication to the Deuill (1592), who refers to the London Brewers in terms of contempt. “Some” says he, “are raised by corrupt water, as gnats, to which we may liken brewers, that, by retayling filthie Thames water, come in a few yeres to be worth fortie or fiftie thousand pound.” Stow remarks of the London Brewers that “for the more part they remain near the friendly waters of the Thames.” In his time many brewhouses were gathered together in the parish of St. Catharine, near the Tower, and are distinguished on the map of London given in the Civitates Orbis by the name of “Beer Houses.”

Many years ago a canal led up from the Thames to the Stag Brewery at Pimlico, and provided that now famous brewhouse with water.

All through the reign of Elizabeth, and for some time afterwards, the Thames in the neighbourhood of the City, continued to afford the greater part of the water used by the London Brewers. Until the New River water was brought to London, an event which took place in the time of James I., the Thames would naturally furnish the chief supply.

The regulations in force touching the Thames water, had regard to the manner in which it was carried from the river to the Breweries, and did not in any way seek to restrict the use of the water as unfit for its purpose. For instance, in the third year of Elizabeth’s reign the Wardens of the Brewers were called before the Common Council and {124} charged not to fetch the water of the Thames in a “liquor-cart,”43 but to make use of “boge” horses (horses carrying boges, i.e. water-barrels), according to the ancient laws and ordinances. The command was subsequently relaxed in favour of brewers living close to the River, and drawing water from “the Water-gate at the Tower Hill or at the Whitefriars.” The reason for this regulation is not stated, but the partial removal of the restriction would seem to show that it was intended to prevent the crowding of the narrow thoroughfares of the City with brewers’ carts passing and repassing. The horse with his “boge” would pass another horse with ease, while two “liquor carts” meeting would certainly block the way. This interpretation is rather confirmed by a subsequent regulation, made three years before the Great Fire cleared away many of the narrow lanes of the City, that brewers’ drays should not go abroad in the streets after 11 a.m. on account of the obstruction to traffic thereby occasioned.

Turning now from the ingredients used in brewing to the actual brewers, it will not surprise any one who has read the chapter immediately preceding the present one, to be informed that in early times a great part of the brewing trade was in the hands of the gentler sex. Alreck, King of Hordoland, is said to have chosen Geirhild for his queen, in consequence of her proficiency in this necessary art, and what was not derogatory to the dignity of a queen might of course be performed by a subject. Accordingly, as has been already shown, even as late as the seventeenth century the brewing of ale and beer for the household was looked upon as belonging to the special province of the housewife and her female servants. Anciently the same custom prevailed in regard to the brewing of ale for sale, and the brewsters or ale-wives had at one time a great part of the trade, both in the country and the city. Mr. Riley, in his preface to the Liber Albus, goes so far as to say that even down to the close of the fifteenth century, if not later, the London brewing trade was almost entirely in the hands of women, and he states that Fleet Street was at that time nearly wholly tenanted by ale-wives and felt-cap makers. With all respect for Mr. Riley’s intimate knowledge of the ancient lore connected with London Town, it must be said that this view seems to be incorrect, for in a list of the London Brewers, made in the reign of Henry V., and still existing in the City Records, out of about three hundred names, only fifteen are those of women. {125} The ale-wives of Fleet Street were probably not brewers, but hucksters or retailers.

The first ale-wife deserving of special mention is the Chester “tapstere,” whose evil doings and fate are recorded in one of the Chester Misteries, or Miracle Plays, of the fourteenth century. The good folk of Chester seem to have had a peculiar dislike to being subjected to the tricks of dishonest brewers and taverners. Even in Saxon times it was a regulation of the City that one who brewed bad ale should be placed on a cucking-stool and plunged in a pool of muddy water. For the ale-wife of the old play a worse fate was reserved, and though she was a fictitious person, many of the audience would no doubt find little difficulty in fitting some of their acquaintances with the character depicted. With that mixture of the sacred and profane which to a modern ear is, to say the least, somewhat startling, the Mystery in question describes the descent of Christ into Hell and the final redemption of all men out of purgatory—all, save one. A criminal remains whose sins are of so deep a dye that she may not be forgiven. She thus confesses her guilt:―

The ale-wife is then carried off into Hell’s mouth by the attendant demons, and the play closes.

The illustration is taken from a miserere seat in Ludlow Church. The scene is a very similar one to that just described. A demon is about to cast the deceitful ale-wife into Hell’s mouth. She carries her gay head attire and her false measure. Another demon reads the roll of her offences, and a third is playing on the pipes by way of accompaniment.

Elynour Rummynge, the cele­brat­ed ale-wife of Leath­er­head in the reign of Henry VIII., has been hand­ed down to fame by the pen of Skel­ton, the Poet Laureate of the day. It may be, as Mr. Dalloway, one of Skelton’s editors, suggests, that the poet made the acquain­tance of Elynour while in at­ten­dance upon the Court at Nonsuch Palace, which was only eight miles from her abode. That the Laureate had a very intimate knowledge of this lady, may be gathered from his minute description of her un­pre­pos­ses­sing person:―

Thus, and with many more unpleasing qualities, does the poet garnish the subject of his verse, going on to describe how―

So fond are many of her customers of her ale, that they will come to it, even though they cannot pay in coin of the realm.

The writers of the Elizabethan age make frequent reference to the ale-wives. “Ask Marian Hacket, the ale-wife of Wincot,” says Christopher Sly, “if she know me not; if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom.” One would think that the ale-wife mentioned in The Knight of the Burning Pestle would have a large, if not a very lucrative, trade:―

All ale-wives, however, had not so good a repute as Jillian of Berry. Harrison, whose knowledge of ale was indisputable, speaking of the fraudulent ale-wives of his time, says: “Such sleights have they for the utterance of this drink (ale) that they will mire it with resin and salt, but if you heat a knife red-hot, and quench it in the ale, so near the {129} bottom of the pot as you can put it, you shall see the rosen come forth hanging on the knife. As for the force of salt, it is well known by the effect; for the more the drinker tipleth, the more he may, and so dooth he carry oft a drie drunken noll to bed with him, except his luck be the better.”

The lady, whose tall hat and large white frill appear upon the next page, went by the unpleasant name of Mother Louse. She is mentioned by Anthony Wood, in 1673, as an ale-wife of Hedington Hill, and was supposed to be the last woman who wore a ruff in England. The verses under the engraving indicate that the dun hat and ruff had gone out of vogue, and were objects of merriment.

From the Accounts of the Lord Treasurer of Scotland (fifteenth century) it may be gathered that the customs and regulations respecting the brewing and sale of ale were much the same in Scotland as in this country. The price of ale was fixed from time to time “efter the imposicioune of the worthi men of the toune,” who regulated it according to the price of malt. “Browster wives” brewed the greater part of the ale, and kept most of the ale-houses. Their ale was frequently made from a barley and oat malt, as was the practice in England at the same date. As in this country, the lack of piquant flavour, afterwards supplied by the hop, was in those days compensated by the addition of ginger, pepper, spices, and aromatic herbs. Though the use of hops spread but slowly into Scotland, a considerable import trade in beer (hopped ale) was carried on with Germany. In 1455 the accounts already quoted show a payment for German beer supplied to the garrison at Dunbar. Some curious entries also appear for the years 1497–8: “Item, to Andrew Bertoune, for ten pipe of cider and beir, the price of all IX li; item, for aill that the Kinges horse drank, viiijd.; item, for the King’s ships, xij barrellis of ail; for ilk barrell xiiijs. iiijd.”

The following extracts from old Scotch laws show the similarity of the old English and Scotch usages:—“All women quha brewes aill to be sould, sall brew conforme to the use and consuetude of the burgh all the yeare. And ilk Browster sall put forth ane signe of her aill, without her house, be the window or be the dure, that it may be sene as common to all men; quhilk gif she does not, she sall pay ane unlaw (fine) of foure pennies.” “It is statute that na woman sel the gallon of aill fra Pasch until Michaelmes, dearer nor twa pennies; and fra Michaelmas untill Pasch, dearer nor ane pennie.” A verse or two of the “Ale-wife’s Supplication; or, the Humble Address of the Scotch Brewers to his Majesty King George III., for taking away the License and charging some less {131} duty on Malt and Ale,” must close this reference to the old Scotch brewing trade:―

Returning now to London, it is proposed to give some account of the brewing trade in olden times, and of the Brewers’ Company.

The first differences that strike one in contrasting the ancient and modern breweries are that the former were on a very small scale compared with the huge establishments of to-day, and that originally nearly every brewer was also a retailer. In Chaucer’s time a brewhouse was often synonymous with an ale-house:―

We have no knowledge of any representations of brewhouses at this early period. The interesting picture of a sixteenth-century brewery is taken from a rare work by Hartman Schopper, entitled, “Πανοπλια, omnium illiberalium, mechanicarum, aut sedentariarun artium genera continens, carminibus expressa, cum venustissimis imaginibus omnium artificum negociationes ad vivum representantibus,” published at Frankfort-on-Main, 1568. The illustration would no doubt stand as well for a brewhouse of a much earlier period, judging from the written descriptions which we possess. The engraver of Der Bierbreuwer was Jost Ammon, and the engraving is considered one of the best examples {133} of the art at this very early period. A plate taken from the same work, representing a cooperage, will be found on page 334.

The old German lines under the engraving of the Beer-brewer may be thus rendered into English: From barley I boil good beer, rich and sweet and bitter fashion. In a wide and big copper I then cast the hops. Then [after boiling the wort] I leave it to cool, and therewith I straightway fill the well-hooped and well-pitched [fermenting] vat; then it [the wort] ferments, and [the beer] is ready.

There is no doubt that the brewers’ trade was originally held in little esteem, and was considered as mean and sordid (de vile juggement). The ignominious punishments and restrictions (some of which have been already mentioned) to which the old London brewers were subjected, prove that their status only slowly improved. In the time of Henry VIII., however, their position had so far advanced in repute that in the grant of arms then made to them, they are specified as “the Worshipful Occupation of the Brewars of the City.”

The Records of the City of London are particularly full of details concerning the brewers and the brewing trade, and it will probably give the best idea of the conditions under which the business was carried on in former days to mention a few of the principal regulations gathered from that valuable body of information, and to supplement them by extracts from the records of the Brewers’ Company. Truth to say, the brewers and the City authorities were never the best of friends, and long accounts are to be found from time to time of disputes between them as to the legal price and quality of the liquor with which the lieges were to be supplied—struggles in which the action of the authorities seems, according to our modern notions, to have been arbitrary in the extreme. An instance of this tyranny over a trade is given in the Liber Aldus, from which it appears that not only was a brewer compelled to brew ale of a specified price and quality, but he was not even allowed to leave off brewing in case he found it did not pay him to continue. The regulation runs thus: “If any shall refuse to brew, or shall brew a less quantity than he or she used to brew, in consequence of this ordinance, he or she shall be held to be a withdrawer of victual from this city and shall be punished by imprisonment, and shall forswear his trade as a brewer within the liberties of the City for ever.”

The same idea, formerly so prevalent, that persons ought to be compelled by the strong hand to pursue their avocations, and the arbitrary manner in which the authorities acted in obtaining a supply of victuals, may be illustrated from the Annals of Dunstaple (1294), in which it is {134} recorded that the King’s long stay at St. Albans and Langley “enormously injured the market of Dunstaple and all the country round. . . The servants of the King seized all victual coming to the market, even cheese and eggs; they went into the houses of the citizens and carried away even what was not for sale, and scarce left a tally with any one. They took bread and ale from the ale-wives, and if they had none they made them make bread and ale.” In 1297 the Sheriffs of Notts and Derby are ordered by Edward I. (Rymer R. 1. 883) to proclaim in every town that the bakers and brewers should bake and brew a sufficient store of bread and ale for certain Welshmen, who were marching to chastise the Scots, “because the King is unwilling that, by reason of such victuals failing, the men of those parts should suffer damage at the hands of the sd Welshmen.”

The persons employed in the malt liquor trade, whether as manufacturers or retailers, are specified in an ordinance of the reign of Henry IV. to be Brewers, Brewsters, Hostillers (i.e., Innkeepers), Kewes (i.e., Cooks), Pyebakers, and Hucksters. The hucksters were undoubtedly at one time accustomed to sell their ale in the streets of London. In 1320 they were prohibited by the Lord Mayor and Aldermen from selling ale on London Bridge. In the sixth year of Richard II. Juliana atte Vane, huckster, was charged with selling her ale in “hukkesterie;” she is asked from whom she bought the ale, and replies that she bought the said ale, viz., one barrel of 30 gallons, from Benedicta (brewster), who lived at “Crepulgate.” It was accordingly adjudged that Juliana had broken the City regulations, and the ale was forfeited. The brewers were forbidden at this time to sell to hucksters under pain of forfeiture and imprisonment at the will of the Mayor, the intention apparently being that only a brewer should be a vendor of ale.

By the reign of Henry IV. the brewers, although they had as yet no royal charter, had joined themselves together for purposes of mutual protection and social intercourse. They are mentioned in an ordinance of the seventh year of that reign as the Mystery (i.e., trade or craft) of Free Brewers within the City, and a constitution is ordained for them by the City Fathers. The freemen of the Mystery are yearly to elect eight persons, four of the part of the City east of Walbrook, viz., two masters and two wardens, and four like persons of the part west of Walbrook. These eight are to make regulations for those using the mystery of brewing, as to the hiring of servants, the sale of ale, and such like matters, as they should be charged by the Mayor and Aldermen; they are also to see “that the good men of the mystery may {135} have a proper place to go to to transact their own business,” and are called together upon the proper occasions “by summons of their beadle in such a manner as other mysteries are;” they are to supervise those who make and supply ale, and to see that “good, able and seyn (sound) ale” is brewed according to the legal price, and to report offenders to the Chamberlain of the City.

Considerable difficulty was at this time experienced in compelling the sellers of ale to keep to the lawful measures of barrel, kilderkin, and lesser vessels. On a complaint being made to the Common Council in the ninth year of Henry IV., that whereas “each barrel ought to contain thirty gallons of just measure, but each is deficient by two gallons or more . . . if the dregs are reckoned as clear ale, and that the brewers will make no rebate in the price on that account to the great deceit and damage of the Lords, Gentles and Citizens,” therefore the deputies of the Chamberlain are ordered to mark every barrel as containing 27 gallons, and the half barrel as containing 14 gallons by reason of the aforesaid dregs. Five years later further evil doings are recorded. The Brewers and brewsters, “to the displeasure of God and contrary to the profit of the City, sell their ale three quarts for a gallon, one quart and a half for a potell (i.e., a two-quart measure); and one hanap (i.e. a two-handled tankard), for a half quart of which six or seven hanaps scarcely make a gallon,” and they are therefore ordered for the future to sell only by sealed measure and not by hanap, tankard, or any such vessel.

In the reign of Henry V. the famous Lord Mayor, Richard Whitington, and the Brewers seem to have been perpetually at daggers drawn.

The records of the Brewers’ Company contain a quaint account of an information laid against them for selling dear ale; the complainant in the case being Sir Richard, whose mayoralty had then expired. The substance of it, translated from the original Norman French, is as follows:―

“On Thursday, July 30th, 1422, Robert Chichele, the Mayor, sent for the masters and twelve of the most worthy of our company to appear at the Guildhall; to whom John Fray, the recorder, objected a breach of government, for which £20 should be forfeited, for selling dear ale. After much dispute about the price and quality of malt, wherein Whityngton, the late mayor, declared that the brewers had ridden into the country and forestalled the malt, to raise its price, they were convicted in the penalty of £20; which objecting to, the masters were ordered to be kept in prison in the Chamberlain’s company, until they {136} should pay it, or find security for payment thereof.” Whereupon, the Mayor and Court of Aldermen, having “gone homeward to their meat,” the masters, who remained in durance vile, “asked the Chamberlain and clerk what they should do; who bade them go home, and promised that no harm should come to them; for all this proceeding had been done but to please Richard Whityngton, for he was the cause of all the aforesaid judgment.” The record proceeds to state that “the offence taken by Richard Whityngton against them was for their having fat swans at their feast on the morrow of St. Martin.” Whether this unctuous dish had offended the famous Mayor’s mind by way of his digestion, does not appear.

The same Robert Chichele is recorded to have issued the fol­low­ing curious reg­u­la­tion in 1423:—“That re­tail­ers of ale should sell the same in their houses in pots of “peutre,” sealed and open; and that whoever carried ale to the buyer should hold the pot in one hand and a cup in the other; and that all who had cups unsealed should be fined.”

Many other complaints of the “oppressive” acts of Whitington towards the Company are also recorded. {137}

The Company, as appears from these records, had the power of fining its members for breach of discipline. In 1421 one William Payne, at the sign of the Swan, by St. Anthony’s Hospital, Threadneedle Street, was fined 3s. 4d., to be expended in a swan for the masters’ breakfast, for having refused to supply a barrel of ale to the King when he was in France. Simon Potkin, of the Key, Aldgate, was fined for selling short measure, whereupon he alleged that he had given money to the masters of the Brewers’ Company, that he might sell ale at his will. This excuse embroiled him with the Company, who were not to be appeased until he had paid 3s. 4d. for a swan to be eaten by the masters, but of which, it is added, “he was allowed his own share.”

In 1420 Thomas Greene, master, and the wardens of the Company agreed that they should meet at “Brewershalle” every Monday for the transaction of their business. It would appear that the first Hall had then been recently erected, for, as we have seen, the Brewers had in the preceding reign no fixed place to which “the good men of the mystery” might resort. Many curious accounts are to be found of election feasts. The presence of females was allowed. The brothers of the Company paid 12d., and the sisters 8d., and a brother and his wife 20d. A menu of one of these feasts, given in the ninth year of Henry V., is subjoined. It shows the nature of these entertainments at that period.

It will be gathered from a study of this bill of fare that, though the Brewers frequently alluded to themselves in petitions as “the poor men of the Mystery of Brewers,” “your poor neighbours the Berebruers,” and such like, they nevertheless fared rather sumptuously than otherwise. Here is their drink bill for a similar entertainment:―

In 1422 Parliament ordered that all the weirs or “kydells” in the Thames from Staines to Gravesend should be destroyed, and the Lord Mayor and Aldermen ordained that two men from each of the City Companies should assist in the work. Thomas Grene and Robert Swannefeld were accordingly chosen on behalf of the Brewers to go to Kingston. The expenses were defrayed by a general contribution by the members of the Company. “These be the names,” says the old {139} writer, “of Brewers of London, the wheche dede paien diverse somes of monye for to helpe to destruye the weres yn Tempse for the comynalte of the Cite of London shulde have the more plente of fissh.” The names of some two hundred and fifty subscribers are subjoined to the record.

In 1424 the Brewers had a Lord Mayor to their mind in John Michelle, who was “a good man, and meek and soft to speak with.” When he was sworn-in, the Brewers gave him an ox, that cost 21s. 2d., and a boar valued at 30s. 1d.; “so that he did no harm to the Brewers, and advised them to make good ale, that he might not have any complaint against them.”

Returning to the ordinances of the City, we find that about this time (7 Hen. V.) there were some three hundred brewers in the City and liberties. In that year another precaution was taken to ensure a proper measure of cask. The coopers were ordered by Whitington to mark with an iron brand all casks made by them. Each cooper was to have his own brand, and the marks were to be entered of record. This regulation was carried into effect, and the mark chosen by each cooper appears on the City Records with his name annexed, as thus:―

In the sixteenth year of the reign of Henry VI. the first charter was granted to the Brewers’ Company. It empowered the freemen of the Mystery of Brewers of the City of London thenceforward to be a corporate body, with a common seal and powers of taking and holding land. The Company was yearly to elect four of their number as wardens, who were to have power to regulate the members of the Mystery and their brewing operations, and also to govern and rule all men employed in, and all processes connected with, the brewing of any kind of liquor from malt within the City and suburbs for ever. This last provision was probably intended to extend the power of the Company to the Fellowship of the Beer-brewers, then beginning to come into existence. Some years afterwards a coat-of-arms was granted to the Company by William Hawkeslowe, Clarencieux King of Arms of the South Marches of Ingelond. It is thus described in the grant: {140} “They beren asure thre barly sheues gold, bound of the same, a cheveron, gowles, in the cheveron thre barels, Sylvir, garnyshed with sable.”

The Brewers had taken for their patron saints St. Mary and St. Thomas the Martyr, and bore the arms of Thomas à Becket impaled with their own, until Henry VIII., dis­cov­er­ing that St. Thomas was no saint after all, des­e­crat­ed his tomb, scat­tered his dust to the four winds of heaven, and com­pelled the Brewers to adopt another es­cut­cheon. The new coat, dis­card­ing the ob­noxious saint’s insignia, was a good deal like the old one, and is borne by the Company to this day. It is described in the grant as follows: “Geules on a Cheueron engrailed silver three kil­der­kyns sable hoped golde between syx barly sheues in saultre of the same, upon the Helme on a torse siluer and asur a demy Morien in her proper couler, vestid asur, fretid siluer, the here golde, holding in either hande thre barley eres of the same manteled sable, dobled siluer.”

With regard to the old Hall of the Brewers’ Company, it oc­cu­pied the site of the pre­sent Hall, and is des­cribed by Stowe as a “faire house;” it was des­troyed in the Great Fire. Of the pre­sent ed­i­fice, which sprang Phœnix-like from the ashes of the yet smok­ing City—it bears date 1666—suf­fice it to say that it is a fine build­ing, char­ac­ter­is­tic of the arch­i­tec­tural style of the period, and that for lovers of old oak car­vings its in­terior is worthy a visit.

This notice of the Brewers’ Company, its foundation, its feasts, and {141} its troubles has taken us rather in advance of our tale, and we must hark back to the middle of the fifteenth century.

To judge from an entry in the City Records of the sixteenth year of Edward IV. the Brewers were sometimes openly resisted by force of arms. The actual occasion on which this was done is not specified, but it is recorded that Richard Geddeney was committed to prison for having said that the Brewers had made new ordinances, and that it would be well to oppose them, as had formerly been done, with swords and daggers, when they were assembled in their Hall.

Six years afterwards a petition was presented to the Lord Mayor and Aldermen by the Brewers, which is so good a specimen of the usual style of their supplications that some portions of it are given. It begins by “petieously compleynyng that where in tyme passed thei have honestly lyved by the meanes of bruyng, and utteryng of their chaffer as well within the fraunchises of the saide Citee as withoute. And hath ben able to bere charges of the same citee after their havours and powers as other freemen of the saide citee. Where now it is so that for lak of Reules and other directions in the saide Crafte they ben disordered and none obedience nor goode Rule and Guydyng is hadd within the saide Crafte to the distruction thereof.” It is therefore prayed—“That eny persone occupying the Craft or feat of bruying within the franchise or the saide citee make or do to be made good and hable ale and holesome for mannys body. . . and that no manner ale after it be clensed and set on yeyst be put to sale or borne oute to eny custumers hous till that it have fully spourged (worked).” That no brewer shall occupy a house or a “seler” apart from his own dwelling-house for the sale of his ale. That no brewer shall “entice or labour to taak awey eny custumer from a brother brewer,” or “serve or do to be served any typler (i.e., retailer of ale) or huxster as to hym anewe be comen custumer of any manner ale for to be retailed till he have verrey knowlage that the saide typler or huxster be clerely oute of dett and daunger for ale to any other person” . . . . . That every person keeping a house and being a brother of Bruers do pay to the Wardens of the Company a sum of 4s. yearly. “That no manner persone of the said crafte . . . presume to goo to the feeste of the Maior or the Sherriff unless he be invited . . that members of the crafte shall appear in livery when so commanded that is to sey gowne and hode . . . That the livery of the crafte be changed and renewed every third year agenst the day of the Election of the newe Wardeyns of the crafte . . .” That once a quarter the ordinances of the Company shall be read to the assembled brewers in {142} their common hall. That no brewer is to buy malt except in the market. That malt brought to market must not be “capped in the sakke, nor raw-dried malte, dank or wete malte or made of mowe brent barly, belyed malt, Edgrove malte, acre-spired malte, wyvell eten malte or meddled46, in the deceite of the goode people of the saide citee, upon payn of forfaiture of the same.” No one is to buy his own malt or corn in the market, “to high the price of corn in the Market,” under pain of the pillory. No one is to sell malt “at the Market of Gracechurch or Greyfreres before 9 of the clock till market bell therfor ordeigned be rongen,” and at one o’clock all the unsold malt is to be cleared away.

All these rules and ordinances the Lord Mayor and Aldermen were graciously pleased to sanction and confirm.

The records contain many entries showing the difficulties the authorities had to contend with in keeping the brewers to the legal price and qualities of ale, a subject already touched on in Chapter V. The prices being fixed by law, and no allowance being made for the natural fluctuations of the market, it is not to be supposed that the brewers would give their customers any better ale than they were absolutely compelled by law to give. As old Taylor quaintly says:―

Disputes arising between the officers of the Brewers’ Company and any members of the guild, were sometimes referred for settlement to the Lord Mayor and Aldermen. In 1520 there was “variance and debate in the Court of Aldermen between the Master and Wardens of the ale-brewers and Thomas Adyson, ale-brewer, concerning the making of a growte” by the latter. The parties having submitted their case to the Court, it was adjudged that Adyson should go to the Brewers’ Hall, {143} and there, before the Master and Wardens, “with due reverence as to them apperteynyng, standing before them his hed uncovered, shall say these words: ‘Maysters, I pray you to be good masters to me, and fromhensforth I promytte you that I shall be good and obedient to you . . and obey the laws and customs of the house.’”

Foreign brewers (i.e., brewers not members of the Company) were only allowed to sell ale within the City on paying 40s. annually to the use of the City, and in default of payment the Chamberlain “shall distreyne their carts from tyme to tyme.” There was also a duty called ale-silver, which had been paid from time immemorial to the Lord Mayor by the sellers of ale within the City.

Complaints of short measure were still common, and as it is shown that the barrels were delivered to customers without being properly filled, so that “thynhabitants of the City paye for more ale and bere than they doo receive, which is agenst alle good reason and conscience,” therefore the brewers were ordered to take round “filling ale” to fill up their customers’ casks.

In the eighteenth year of Henry VIII. a striking instance of the insubordination of the Brewers is recorded. The four Wardens of the Company were ordered to produce their books of fines, “the whiche to doo they utterly denyed.” Therefore the four Wardens and their Clerk, Lawrence Anworth, “were comytted to the prisn of Newgate ther to remayne.” This seems to have awakened the Wardens to a sense of their duties, for on the same day they brought in “ij. boks inclosed in a whytte bagge.” A committee was appointed to inspect the same, “forasmuche as it is thought that mayne unreasonable fynes and other ordynannces be conteyned in theym.”

It has been already mentioned (p. 68) that from the time of Henry VI. beer had begun slowly to displace the old English ale. The Beer-brewers had gathered themselves together into a “fellowship” for the protection of their interests, and were quite distinct from the Ale-brewers, who composed the Brewers’ Company. Whatever may have been the case earlier, in the reign of Henry VIII. the Beer-brewers numbered in their fellowship a certain proportion of Dutchmen. In the twenty-first year of that reign it was ordained that “no maner Berebruer, Ducheman or other, selling any bere shall, etc.” “Also that no maner of berebruer Englise or straunger, shall have and kepe in his house above the nomber of two Coblers to amende their vessells.” Constant reference is made to the Beer-brewers as being a fellowship separate from the Ale-brewers until the reign of Edward VI., by which {144} time they had united, apparently without obtaining the sanction of any authority to the change. In the fifth year of that reign a resolution was passed by the Court of Common Council that, “forasmoche as the beare-bruers in the last commen counseyll here holden most dysobedyentlye, stubborenelye, and arrogantlye behaved theymselfes toward this honourable Courte,” the whole craft of the Beer-brewers are for ever disqualified from being elected to serve upon the Common Council; if, however, the Beer-brewers make humble submission, they may be restored to their old status, “if your lordship and the wysdomes of this Citee shall then thynke it mete.” And forasmuch as “most evydently yt hathe apperyd that this notable stobernes of the beare-bruers hath rysen by the counseyll and provocatioun of the ale-bruers, which have unyted to theym all the beare-bruers,” it is ordered that for the future the two crafts shall not unite, nor shall the Ale-brewers compel any one to come into their Company. This state of things continued till the third year of Queen Mary’s reign, when a petition was presented by the Brewers to the Common Council, which recited that the two crafts had formerly been united, “as mete and verye convenyente it was and yet is,” and prayed that the restriction might be removed. The petition ended thus: “and they with all their hartes accordinge to theire dueties shall daylye praye unto almightye god longe to prosper and preserve your honours and worshippes in moche helthe and felycytie.” This affecting appeal, which would have moved a heart of stone, had the desired effect, and from that day to the present the Beer-brewers and Ale-brewers have been united, “as mete and very convenyente it is” that they should be. Different governance, however, was applied to the former, and for long after this period four Surveyors of the Beer-brewers, being “substantyall sadd men,” were elected every year to supervise the trade.

An instance of the tyranny with which the trades were regulated in the old days has been already given; a very similar one may be taken from an order of the Star Chamber in the twenty-fourth year of Henry VIII., which commands that “in case the Maire and Aldermen of the same Citie shall hereafter knowe and perceyve or understonde that any of the saide Brewers of their frowarde and perverse myndes shall at any tyme hereafter sodenly forbere and absteyne from bruynge, whereby the King’s subjects shulde bee destitute or onprovided of Drynke,” the brewhouses of such “wilfull and obstynate” brewers shall be taken possession of by the City, who are to allow others to brew there, and provide them materials “in case their lak greynes to brew with.” {145}

Regrators and forestallers (i.e., persons who bought large stocks of provisions with the object of causing a rise in price) were in old times severely treated by the authorities, who generally checked their iniquitous dealings by ordering them to sell their stores at a reasonable price. The forestaller, indeed, might think himself lucky if he escaped so easily. In the fourth year of Edward VI. four persons who had accumulated great quantities of hops in a time of scarcity were ordered to sell their whole stock at once at a reasonable price.

All through the reign of Queen Elizabeth the unfortunate brewers were vexed with frequent and, in some cases, contradictory regulations: This beer was to be allowed; that beer was prohibited; prices were still fixed by law, and qualities must correspond to the City regulations. Even though a man be ruined, he could not leave off brewing, for fear of being held a “rebel.”

A curious ordinance, made in the fourteenth year of Elizabeth’s reign, shows the extreme newness of the ale and beer consumed by the good men of the City of London in those days. The ordinance is expressed to be for the reformation of “dyvers greate and foule abuses disorderlye bigonne by the Brewers,” and, reciting that the Brewers have begun to deliver their beer and ale but two or three hours after the same be cleansed and tunned, it provides that no beer or ale is to be delivered to customers till it has stood in the brewer’s house six hours in summer and eight in winter.

There seems to have been a smoke question in London even as early as this period, for in the twenty-first year of Elizabeth we find that John Platt was committed to prison, “for that he contrarye to my Lorde Maior’s comaundement to refraine from burninge of seacoles during her Majestie’s abode at Westminster, he did continually burn seacole notwithstanding.” A petition from the Brewers to Her Majesty’s Council about the same period recites that the Brewers understand that Her Majesty “findeth hersealfe greately greved and anoyed with the taste and smoke of the seacooles used in their furnaces.” They therefore promise to substitute wood in the brewhouses nearest to Westminster Palace. What would have been Her Majesty’s “grief” if she could have experienced a modern November in London?

In Peter Pindar’s poem on the visit of King George III. to Whitbread’s Brewery, allusion is made to the once popular belief that brewers’ horses are usually fed on grains. The origin of this idea may possibly be found in the regulations enforced in London as to the price of and the dealings in brewers’ grains. In a proclamation of Elizabeth’s {146} time it is recited that “forasmuche as brewers’ graines be victuall for horses and cattell as hey and horsebread and other provinder be,” therefore a price is to be set upon grains by the Lord Mayor, and the buying of grains to sell again is forbidden. The difficulties of enforcing the rules as to price and quality of ale and beer are shown in the frequent complaints of the brewers, and in the numerous trials that were made from time to time by the City authorities to ascertain how much drink ought to be brewed from a fixed quantity of malt. In the thirty-fifth year of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, a large Committee was appointed to make trial, at the charges of the City, of twenty quarters of malt, to be brewed into two sorts of beer, viz., strong beer at 6s. 8d. the barrel, and “doble” beer at 3s. 4d. the barrel. As a result of the trial, the brewers promised to draw only five barrels and a half of double beer from a quarter of malt until the price of malt had fallen to 18s. the quarter; a strong proof this of the growing taste for strong ale and beer. Shortly before this time the strongest ale allowed by law had been this same “doble.” Now the “doble” had taken the place of the single, and the strong ale of twice the strength of the “doble” had stepped into its place.

A very summary way had the City authorities in the sixteenth century, of treating any drink or victual which did not come up to the required standard of excellence. In 1597 we find it ordered that two and fifty pipes of corrupt beer, “being nether fitt for man’s body, nor to be converted into sawce (i.e. vinegar) . . . shall have the heades of all the same pipes beaten owte and the beer poured out into the channells, part in Cheapside, part in Cornhill and part in Bishopsgate.”

After the reign of Elizabeth the entries concerning the Brewers and their delinquencies become fewer and farther between. The prices of ale and beer were still fixed by law, but more common-sense views on the subject of trade and trade regulation were slowly beginning to prevail, and we soon lose all traces of the tyrannous and vexatious regulations of which so many instances occur in earlier times. One more such instance may be mentioned of an arbitrary attempt to force trade out of its natural channels, and to lower prices and compel sobriety at one and the same time. In 1614 the Lord Mayor, “finding the gaols pestered with prisoners, and their bane to take root and beginning at ale-houses, and much mischief to be there plotted, with great waste of corn in brewing heady strong beer, many consuming all their time and means sucking that sweet poison,” had an exact survey taken of all victualling houses and ale-houses, which were above a thousand. As above 300 {147} barrels of beer were in some houses, the whole quantity of beer in victualling houses amounting to above 40,000 barrels, he had thought it high time to abridge their number and limit them by bonds as to the quantity of beer they should use, and as to what orders they should observe, whereby the price of corn and malt had greatly fallen. The Brewers, however, seem to have been too many for his Lordship, for though he limited the number of barrels to twenty per house, and the quality of the two sorts of beer to 4s. and 8s. a barrel, so that the price of malt and wheat was in a fortnight reduced by 5s. or 6s. per quarter, yet the Brewers brewed as before, alleging that the beer was to be used for export, and, “combining with such as kept tippling houses,” conveyed the same to the ale-houses by night, so that in a few weeks’ time the price of malt had risen to much the same figure as before.

In 1626 the Brewers’ Company was in evil case, as may be judged from a petition presented by them in that year to the City Fathers, in which they allege that they are in a decayed state and not able to govern their trade, that their Company consists of but six beer-brewers and a small number of ale-brewers, and that other brewers are free of other Companies. The petition goes on to pray that no other person than a freeman of the Company be allowed to set up a brewhouse in the City. The petition was referred to a Committee, and nothing more was heard of it. A similar petition, presented to the Common Council in the year 1752, was considered and the prayer granted.

While, however, the Brewers’ Company had been allowed to fall into decay, the City regulations of the trade had become less and less irksome, and the brewers themselves increased in wealth and prosperity. Many allusions may be found in the writers of the middle of the seventeenth century, which prove that the status of the brewers had greatly improved. The old Water Poet thus describes how the brewers “are growne rich”:―

A short space only may be devoted to a record of a few of the more remarkable brewers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Jan Steen, of Delph, seems to have been a brewer famed rather for his eccentricities than for his beer. He flourished in the days of Charles II., and Arnold Hinbraken, his biographer, says that a whole book might {149} be filled with droll episodes of his life. “He was so attached to boon companions, that his Brewery came to grief. He bought wine with his money instead of malt. His wife, seeing this, said one day to him, ‘Jan, our living is vanishing, our customers call in vain, there is no beer in the cellar, nor have we malt for a Brew, what will become of us? You should bring life into the brewery.’ ‘I’ll keep it alive,’ said Jan, and walked away. He went to market and bought several live ducks, having first told his men to fill the largest kettle with water and heat it. He then threw a little malt in it, and threw in the Ducks, which, not accustomed to hot water, flew madly through the Brewery making a horrid noise, so that his wife came running in to see what the matter was, when Jan, turning to her, said, ‘My love, is it not lively now in our Brewery?’ However, he gave up brewing, and turned Painter.”

William Hicks, who died in the year 1740, was one of the most remarkable Brewers of the last century. He was brewer to the Royal household, and left behind him a well-earned reputation for honesty and loyalty. A striking proof of his loyalty may be seen to this day in the statue of George I., which he set up on the summit of Bloomsbury steeple, and of which a facetious person wrote:―

Another celebrated brewer of last century was Humphrey Parsons, twice Lord Mayor of London. This gentleman, when upon a hunting party with Louis XV., happened to be exceedingly well mounted, and, contrary to the etiquette observed in the French Court, outstripped the rest of the company, and was first in at the death. On the King asking the name of the stranger, he was indignantly informed that he “was un chevalier de malte.” The King entered into conversation with Mr. Parsons, and asked the price of his horse. The Chevalier, bowing in the most courtly style, replied that the horse was beyond any price other than his Majesty’s acceptance. The horse was delivered, and from thenceforward the chevalier Parsons had the exclusive privilege of supplying the French Court and people with his far-famed “black champagne.”

It has been the sad reflection of many an one, on wandering in a churchyard and reading the epitaphs of the departed, that certainly the most virtuous and highly-gifted of mankind have already passed {150} away—that is, if the epitaphs are absolutely to be relied on. Mr. Tipper, the Newhaven brewer, who died in 1785, and lies buried in Newhaven Churchyard, is an instance in point. Surely none but himself could have been Mr. Tipper’s parallel. His epitaph runs thus:―

The last resting place of Mr. Pepper, sometime brewer of Stamford, in Lincolnshire, bears these lines:―

VARIOUS KINDS OF ALES AND BEERS.—SOME FOREIGN BEERS. — RECEIPTS. — SONGS. — ANECDOTES.

N attempt to describe, or even to specify, all the ales and beers that have gained a local or more wide-spread fame, would be a lengthy task. Nearly every county in England, and nearly every town of any size, has been at one time or another noted for its malt liquors. The renown of some localities has been evanescent, having depended probably upon the special art of some “barmy” brewer or skilful ale-wife, whilst of others it may be said that years only increase their fame and spread their reputation.

From a perusal of those queer old collections of quackery, magic, herb-lore and star-lore, the Saxon Leechdoms, it may be gathered that our Saxon ancestors brewed a goodly assortment of malt liquors. They made beer, and strong beer; ale, and strong ale; clear ale, lithe (clear) beer; and twybrowen, or double-brewed ale, the mighty ancestor of the “doble-doble” beer of Elizabethan times. Besides all these, there was foreign ale for those whose tastes were too fastidious to be satisfied with their native productions. {152}

On the authority of the Alvismál, it may be said that no distinction was originally drawn between ale and beer, except, perhaps, that the latter was considered to be a somewhat more honourable designation; “öl heitir meth mönnum en meth Asum bjoor” (i.e., ale it is called among men, and among the gods beer).

The Exeter Book, a collection of Anglo-Saxon poems, contains the expressions, “a good beer-drinker,” “angry with ale,” “drunken with beer,” in close juxtaposition and apparently without any distinction of meaning. A distinction must, however, have arisen in very early times, for in the collection of Saxon Leechdoms, mentioned above, a direction is to be found that a patient is on no account to drink beer, although he may partake in moderation of ale and wine; and the same work contains the remarkable and apparently impossible statement that while a pint of ale weighs six pennies more than a pint of water, a pint of beer weighs twenty-two pennies less than a pint of water.

The word beer seems gradually to have given place to the word ale, and though the former may have lingered in some parts of the country, and the passage from King Horn already quoted shows that in the thirteenth century it was not quite forgotten—ale became the usual word to express malt liquor. It was English ale that strengthened the arm of English bowmen at Crecy and Poictiers, and on many another well-fought field; and English ale was the “barley-broth” which “decocted” the cold blood of the dwellers in this land of fogs and mist “to such valiant heat” and stubborn endurance in their constant struggles with the valour and chivalry of France.

The old English word “beor,” indeed, had become so weakened and specialised, even as early as the tenth century, that it is to be found in a Vocabulary of that date as an equivalent for idromellum, a word properly signifying an inferior sort of mead, but also denoting the sweet wort, before fermentation had changed it into ale. It is curious to observe that when next the word “beer” came into common use in our language, it was by introduction of our neighbours the Flemings, and was specially applied to malt liquor in which the bitter of the hop was an important ingredient. The word left us in sweetness, it returned in bitterness, and so the whirligig of time brings in its revenges. Beer became the name for hopped ale, but that distinction soon began to be less significant, for as early as 1616 we find Gervase Markham, in his Maison Rustique, recommends the use of a small quantity of hops in ale-brewing. {153}

Taylor, in Drink and Welcome, dwells upon this distinction between ale and beer in the seventeenth century as follows:—“Now to write of Beere I shall not need to wet my pen much with the naming of it, it being a drinke which Antiquitie was an Aleien or a meere stranger to, and as it hath scarcely any name, so hath it no habitation, for the places or houses where it is sold doth still retain the name of an Alehouse. This comparison needs a Sir Reverence to usher it, but being Beere is but an Upstart and a Foreigner or Alien, in respect of Ale, it may serve instead of a better; Nor would it differ from Ale in anything, but onely that an Aspiring Amaritudinous Hop comes crawling lamely in, and makes a Bitter difference betweene them, but if the Hop be so crippled, that he cannot be gotton to make the oddes, the place may poorely bee supply’d with chopp’d Broome (new gathered) whereby Beere hath never attained the sober Title of Ale, for it is proper to say A Stand of Ale, and a Hoggeshead of Beere, which in common sense is but a swinish phrase or appellation.”

That curious ballad entitled Skelton’s Ghost, which was probably the work of a rhymer of the seventeenth century, points to the same distinction. The ghost of Skelton the Laureate is supposed to be addressing some of the jovial characters of the period much in the tone of one who, having lived in the golden age (of liquor), looks down with pity and scorn at a later-day’s degenerate topers. These are the particular lines in point:―

At the present day, in the eastern counties, and indeed over the greater portion of the country, ale means strong, and beer means small malt liquor; in London beer usually means porter (i.e., the small beer of stout); while in the west country beer is the “mighty” liquor, and ale the small. In the trade, however, beer is the comprehensive word for all malt liquors. {154}

Ale was not the only word employed in late Saxon times to signify the “oyle of barly,” for wœt, from the Saxon swatan, was in common use as a synonym, and now, perhaps, finds its representative in the slang phrase, “heavy wet.” The same term lingers in Scotland, and lovers of Burns will remember his line, “It gars the swats gae glibber doun.” In former times wheat and oats were malted, as well as barley, and though, as has been previously stated (p. 105), the law from time to time prohibited this use of wheat, as tending to enhance the price of bread, the practice was stronger than the precept, and continued to prevail down to a comparatively recent date.

Cogan, in The Haven of Health (1586), thus describes the effect of the different malts on the resultant liquor:—“For beere or ale being made of wheat inclineth more to heat, for wheat is hot. If it be made of barley malt, it enclineth more to cold, for barley is cold. And if it be made of barley and otes together it is yet more temperate and of less nourishment.” In the reign of Edward VI. even beans were used in brewing, for the Brewers’ Company, in a petition to the Common Council asking for a revision of the prices of ale and beer, complain that the articles they use in brewing, viz., “wheate, malte, oates, beanes, hoppes . . . . . . at these days are comen unto greate and exceeding pryces.”

It has been shown that for several hundred years the prices and qualities of ale were fixed by law. As a rule, only two kinds were allowed to be brewed for sale, the better and the second, or, as they were called in some places, and notably in London, the double and the single. The prices in Henry III.’s reign for the better kind were fixed at 1d. for two gallons sold within cities, and 1d. for three or four gallons sold in country places. In Edward III.’s reign three sorts of ale might be brewed, the best at 1½d. a gallon, the middling at 1d., and the third at three farthings; and these prices seem to have been in force in the City of London with slight variations down to the time of Henry VIII., when the Brewers upon several occasions stirred themselves to get the prices raised, but met with varying success. In the early part of the reign the retail price of the best ale was still 1½d. the gallon, and of the second, called threehalfpenny ale, 1d. per gallon. Double beer was to be 1d. per gallon, and single ½d. and a half-farthing. The wholesale price for beer was also fixed, and three kinds were allowed, viz., “Dobyll” at 15d. the kilderkin, “Threehalfpenny” at 12d., and “Syngyll” at 10d.

In the twenty-fourth year of Henry VIII. the Brewers, after much agitation, got the prices of beer raised to 2s. the kilderkin for the “doble,” {155} and 1s. for the “syngyll”; but even with that they were not satisfied, and expressed their dissatisfaction in protests to the Common Council, who listened to their complaint, “but after long consideration it was agreed, that whereas the Serjeaunt Gybson hath exhibited and rote a boke of the gaynes of the said bere-brewers,” their case should be remitted to the care of a committee appointed to look into it. In the result no alteration was then sanctioned, but five years afterwards the price was raised to 3s. 4d. the kil. for the best, and 2s. 8d. for the threehalfpenny. The strength of ale usually brewed about this time may be judged from answers given by London brewers when interrogated on the subject. John Sheffield, on being asked (36 Henry VIII.) how many kilderkins of good ale he draws from a quarter of malt, answers, “Little above five.” Other brewers say much the same thing, though Richard Pyckering evades the question by saying that “he commytteth the whole to his wife, and what she draweth from a quarter he knoweth not.” This would point to an ale of very considerable strength. In the thirty-seventh year of Henry VIII., another committee was appointed to consider this all-important question, “on account of the grete derthe and scarcitye at this present of all kinds of grayne;” but nothing resulted from their deliberations. The Brewers, however, seem to have stuck to their text with great pertinacity, and in the fifth year of Edward VI. obtained a decision of a committee of the Common Council, that they could no longer supply the City at the then existing prices. Two kinds of beer only are to be allowed, our old friends, “doble” and “syngyll,” and the strength and quality are defined as follows: “Of every quarter of grayne that any beare-bruer shall brewe of doble beare, he shall drawe fowre barrells and one fyrkyn of goode holsome drynke for mannes bodye,” and double that quantity of single beer. The price of the double beer is to be 4s. 8d. the barrel, and of single beer 2s. 4d., until the price of malt is reduced to 15s. the quarter, and of wheat to 12s., when the old prices are to be revived. Little variations of price occurred until the reign of Elizabeth, who seems, from contemporary accounts, to have been frequently exercised by the behaviour of the London Brewers. In a Royal proclamation of the second year of her reign, she complains that the Brewers have left off brewing any single beer, but brew “a kynde of very strong bere calling the same doble-doble-bere which they do commenly utter and sell at a very greate and excessyve pryce,” and orders the old rules and rates to be observed; and in particular that every Brewer shall once a week brew “as much syngyl as doble beare and more.” Twenty years later the “doble-doble” seems to have been {156} sanctioned in practice if not in name, for the Brewers are ordered to sell two sorts of beer only, the double at 4s. the barrel and “the other sort of beare of the best kynde at 7s. 6d.”

Three years later still the Queen declares that the disorders of the Brewers, through their “ungodly gredyness,” have grown to such lengths that something must be done; and an Act of Common Council brings back the beer to double and single, and applies other remedies.

In 1654 three sorts of beer are allowed—the best at 8s. the barrel, the second at 6s., and the small at 4s.; and shortly afterwards a fourth kind was added at 10s. The efforts of the authorities to fix the prices of ale and beer by arbitrary means were not long afterwards finally discontinued.

The limitation and classification of ale and beer according to their strength, was maintained down to quite recent times because of the duties laid upon them, but on the repeal of those duties ales of every strength, kind and description were, and have since been, extensively manufactured. Every want, whim, and fancy of the ale-drinker may now be gratified. There is old Scotch or old Burton for the lover of strong beer, porter for the labouring classes, stout for the weakly, and last, but far from least, that splendid liquid, pale ale, which, when bottled, vies with champagne in its excellence and delicacy of flavour, and beats it altogether out of the field when we take into consideration its sustaining and restorative powers.

A tale is told of a man who asserted that tea was stronger than beer. “A pot of beer,” said he, “will seldom attract more than a couple of men about it, but a pot of tea will draw half-a-dozen or more old women.”

A potent drink, much in vogue with the roystering blades of former times, was that known as “huff-cap.” The name was a cant expression for strong ale, which was so called because it induced people to set their caps in a bold huffing fashion. The term huff-cap was also used to denote a swaggering fellow, as may be gathered from Clifford’s Note on Dryden (1687):—“Prethee tell me true, was not this huff-cap once the Indian Emperour, and at another time did he not call himself Maximine?” Fulwel’s Art of Flattery thus mentions this variety of the juice of barley:—“To quench the scorching heat of our parched throtes, with the best nippitatum in this toun, which is commonly called huff-cap, it will make a man look as though he had seen the devil and quickly move him to call his own father a ———” (naughty name). Harrison, writing on the food and diet of the English in 1587, also {157} mentions huff-cap, and speaks of the mightiness of the ale in which our ancestors indulged; ale, in fact, as an old Proverb has it, “that would make a cat speak.” “Howbeit,” he writes, “though they are so nice in the proportion of their bread, yet in lieu of the same their is such headie ale and beere in moste of them, as for the mightinesse thereof among suche as seeke it oute, is commonly called huffe cap, the mad dog, angel’s food, dragon’s milke, etc. And this is more to be noted, that when one of late fell by God’s prouvidence into a troubled conscience, after he had considered well of his reachlesse life, and dangerous estate; another thinking belike to change his colour and not his mind, carried him straightwaie to the strongest ale, as to the next physician. It is incredible to saie how our malte bugs lug at this liquor, even as pigs should lie in a rowe, lugging at their dame’s teats, till they lie still againe and be not able to wag. Neither did Romulus and Remus sucke their shee woolfe or sheepherd’s wife Lupa with such eger and sharpe devotion as these men hale at hufcap, till they be red as cockes, and little wiser than their combs.” A strong ale, called “Huff,” is still brewed at Winchester, and is kept for the use of the fellows (not the boys) of that ancient institution.

Some idea of the strength of the ale usually drunk in the country districts in Elizabeth’s reign, may be gathered from a passage in a letter from Leicester to Burleigh, written while the Queen was on one of her famous progresses through the country: “There is not one drop of good drink here for her. We were fain to send to London, and Kenilworth, and divers other places where ale was; her own bere was so strong as there was no man able to drink it.”

To quote again from old Harrison on the fondness of his contemporaries for strong ale, speaking of workmen and others attending bride-ales (i.e., marriage feasts) and such like festivities, he says: “If they happen to stumble upon a peece of venison and a cup of wine or verie strong beere or ale (which latter they commonlie provide against their appointed daies) they thinke their cheere so great, and themselves to have fared so well, as the Lord Maior of London, with whom, when their bellies be full, they will not stick to make comparison.”

In the year 1680, during the debate on the Act to restrain the excess and abuse used in Victualling Houses, one member said that he wished “there might be a reformation of Ale, which is now made so strong, that he offered to affirm it upon oath, that it is commonly sold for a Groat a quart. It is as strong as wine, and will burn like Sack.” {158}

The Water Poet thus describes the different qualities of mild and stale beer as known to the topers of the seventeenth century: “The stronger Beere is divided into two parts (viz.), mild and stale; the first may ease a man of a drought, but the latter is like water cast into a Smith’s forge, and breeds more heart-burnings, and as rust eates into Iron, so overstale Beere gnawes aulet holes in the entrales, or else my skill failes, and what I have written of it is to be held as a Jest.”

Nipitatum or nipitato was another slang name for very strong ale. It is mentioned in The Knight of the Burning Pestle:―

Another epithet applied to ale, and denoting great strength, was “humming,” and a reason for the term is shown by the extract from a letter from John Howell to Lord Ciffe (seventeenth century), who, in speaking of metheglin, says “that it keeps a humming in the brain, which made one say that he loved not metheglin because he was used to speak too much of the house he came from, meaning the hive.” The humming in the head would be equally applicable to the effects of ale as of metheglin, though the hive would only apply to the latter. The same idea is sometimes expressed by the term hum-cup, as in the lines from the old Sussex sheep-shearing song, beginning:―

Besides these strong ales and others too numerous to mention, there was, at the beginning of last century, a certain strong beer called Pharaoh, which gave its name to an ale-house at Barley, in Cambridgeshire. The reason of the name is not certainly known, although it was said in the county that it was so called because it would not let the people go. This drink is no longer made in England, but a strong beer of the same name is much appreciated in Belgium. The same liquor is mentioned in the Praise of Yorkshire Ale (1685):

As there have been many strong and mighty ales since the days when―

so there have been an abundance of small poor drinks, which have been from time to time known by various terms of contempt, the titles “whip-belly-vengeance” and “rotgut” being, perhaps, on the whole, the most expressive. Shakspere sums up the humdrum of retired matronly life in the well-known line, “To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.” Beer which had been kept so long that it had turned sour was at one time known as “broken beer,” much as we speak now of broken victuals. Ben Jonson, in his Masque of Gypsies, makes mention of an infant “very carefully carried at his mother’s back, rock’d in a cradle of Welsh cheese like a maggot, and there fed with broken beer, and blown wine of the best daily.”

In olden times small beer discharged that friendly office assigned by later and more fastidious days to soda-water, namely, the cooling of the parched throat after a too earnest devotion to the rites of Bacchus.

wrote one of the Brasenose College poets. Christopher Sly, awakening from his debauch, cries aloud for “a pot of small ale . . . and once again a pot of the smallest ale,” and Prince Hal “remembers the poor creature small beer.”

A nameless author, writing in the Gentleman’s Magazine, 1746, describes this function of small beer, and in poetic vein tells how after a “wine,” awaking from a feverish sleep, he sees before him a venerable man,

Even in distant times particular localities became noted for the excellence of their brewers. London early attained, and has maintained until the present day, a great reputation for its ale. Chaucer alludes to the taste of the Cook for a “draught of London ale.” Tyrwhitt says that in 1504 London ale was of such excellence that it fetched 5s. a barrel more than Kentish ale. This can hardly be, as we have already seen that at that period the barrel of London double ale only fetched 4s. Probably Tyrwhitt intended to refer to a tun and not to a barrel. The occasion referred to was the enthronement of William Wareham as Archbishop of Canterbury, when the provision made for washing down the vast stores of eatables was something tremendous. Besides great quantities of wine of many sorts, there were four tuns of London ale, six of Kentish, and twenty of English beer.

The malt liquors of London, and especially London porter and stout, are known from pole to pole, and Burton ales have a no less world-wide reputation. Indeed, the word Burton has in itself come to be synonymous with ale, and the expression “a glass of Burton” has become a household word. {161}

Old strong beer is sometimes known by the name of Stingo, and this appellation seems, for a couple of hundred years at least, to have been specially applied to Yorkshire Ale. The estimation in which this liquor was held at the end of the eighteenth century, and the wonders it was deemed capable of bringing about, may be learned from a perusal of The Praise of Yorkshire Ale, an old poem, extracts from which may be found in the chapter devoted to Ballads. We have been given to understand that the brewers of Yorkshire Stingo have not forgotten their ancient skill.

Our old friend Taylor mentions a goodly number of places where especially good ale was brewed in his day. “I should be voluminous,” he says, “if I should insist upon all pertinent and impertinent passages {162} in the Behalfe of Ale, as also of the retentive fame that Yorke, Chester, Hull, Nottingham, Darby, Gravesende, with a Toaste, and other Countries still enjoy, by making this untainted liquor in the primitive way, and how Windsor doth more glory in that composition than all the rest of her speculative pleasures. . . . . Also there is a Towne neere Margate in Kent (in the Isle of Thanet) called Northdowne, which Towne hath ingrost much Fame, Wealth, and Reputation from the prevalent potencie of their attractive Ale.”

Derby had as early as the sixteenth century a great reputation for its ales. Sir Lionel Rash, in Green’s Tu Quoque, an Elizabethan comedy, says: “I have sent my daughter this morning as far as Pimlico to fetch a draught of Derby Ale, that it may fetch a colour into her cheeks.” Fuller, in his Worthies of England, with an evident conservative taste for ale, that “authenticall drinke of old England,” mentions the repute of Derby ale with some circumlocution, but with no stinted praise. “Ceres being our English Bacchus,” he remarks, “this was our ancestors’ common drink, many imputing the strength of their Infantry (in drawing so stiff a bow) to their constant (but moderate) drinking thereof. Yea, now the English begin to turn to Ale (may they in due time regain their former vigorousnesse) and whereas in our remembrance, Ale went out when swallows came in, seldom appearing after Easter; it now hopeth (having climbed up May Hill) to continue its course all the year. Yet have we lost the Preservative, what ever it was, which (before Hops were found out) made it last so long in our land some two hundred years since, for half a year at least after the brewing thereof; otherwise of necessity they must brew every day, yea pour it out of the Kive into the Cup, if the prodigious English Hospitality in former ages be considered, with the multitude of menial servants and strangers entertained. Now never was the wine of Sarepta better known to the Syrians, that of Chios to the Grecians, of Phalernum to the Latines, than the Canary of Derby is to the English thereabout.”

Manchester at about the same period seems to have had a great assortment of Ales and Beers, if we are to believe Taylor, who, in his Pennyless Pilgrimage, tells

The southern district of Devon, which is locally known as South Hams, has long been famed for a curious liquor known as “white ale.” The beverage is of great antiquity, and has been subject to tithe from time immemorial. Kingsbridge is supposed to have been the place where white ale was first brewed. It used to be made of malt, a small quantity of hops, flour, spices, and a mysterious compound known as “grout,” or “ripening,” the manufacture of which was, and may be still, preserved as a great secret in a few families. In another receipt for making this ale it is stated that a number of eggs should be added to the liquor before it is allowed to ferment, and this seems to have been an essential of the original brew, or at any rate was so considered in 1741. A writer at that date says:—“The Ale-wives, whose province of making this Ale it commonly falls under to manage from the beginning to the end, are most of them as curious in their brewing it, as the Dairy women in making their butter, for as it is a White Ale it soon sullies by dirt . . . . ; the wort is brewed by the hostess, but the fermentation is brought on by the purchase of what they call ‘ripening,’ or a composition, as some say, of flower of malt and white of eggs . .”

This luscious liquid has been described as “not the sparkling beverage brewed from malt and hops, but a milky-looking compound, of which, judging from the flavour, milk, spice and gin seemed to be among the ingredients. It does not improve by keeping, and is brewed only in small quantities for immediate consumption. It is kept in large bottles, and you will scarcely pass a public-house from Darmouth to Plymouth without seeing evidence of its consumption by the empty bottles piled away outside the premises.”

At the present time a considerable quantity of white ale is made in and about Tavistock. It is now, however, brewed in a simpler manner than of yore, and consists simply of common ale with eggs and flour {164} added. The labourers of that part of the country much affect it, and as it is highly nutritious it is regarded by many of them as “meat, drink and cloth” combined. A bloated habit of body is said to arise from a too faithful adherence to this luscious fluid. A former great connoisseur of this West-country ale, one Bone Phillips, lies buried just outside the church door at Kingsbridge; the following lines were inscribed over his grave at his request:―

While on the subject of epitaphs, the following may be quoted as having some bearing on the subject specially treated of in this chapter:―

An ale of a similar nature to white ale goes in Cornwall by the rather uneuphonious title of “Laboragol.” Somewhat similar to the foregoing was grout47 ale, which is said by Halliwell, on the authority of Dean Milles’ MS. glossary, to have been different from white ale, of a brownish colour, and known only to the people about Newton Bussel, who kept the method of preparing it a secret. A physician, a native of that place, informed him that the preparation was made of “malt almost burnt in an iron pot, mixed with some of the barm which rises on the first working in the keeve, a small quantity of which invigorates the whole mass and makes it very heady.” {165}

While mentioning some few of the places specially noted for their ales, our ancient seats of learning must not be forgotten. Who has not heard of Trinity audit, and of that scarcely less famous liquor, Brasenose Ale? Many who have tasted the former have had no words to express their feelings; some have said that it is as superior to all other mortal brews as Chateau Lafitte is to vin ordinaire. These may seem words of extravagant praise; but let the reader who has never tasted this famous drink reserve his judgment on the point until he has, and above all let him lose no time in putting his judgment to the test. Trinity audit would justify the eulogy of the host in the Beaux’ Stratagem—“As smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, strong as brandy; fancy it Burgundy, only fancy it, and it is worth ten shillings a quart.”

Brasenose College, Oxford, has long been noted for its ale. As each Shrovetide comes round, the college butler, as a condition of the tenure of his office, presents a barrel of the strongest nappy, and celebrates the event in verse, handing on to generations yet unborn the name and fame of the Brasenose brew. The earlier of these ale poems, which are in reality the effusions of some poetical undergraduate, had a fleeting existence, but some years ago Mr. Prior, who was then and still continues, {166} the butler of the College, published a collection of them in a small volume, entitled Brasenose Ale. In his little book, which we commend to the perusal of all good ale-knights, occur the following lines, written by R. J. B., in 1835:―

How Brasenose College came by its peculiar name is a much disputed point. There is a legend that in the far-off time of long ago certain students of the temporary university at Stamford, the iron ring of whose door-knocker was fitted in a nose of brass, migrated to Oxford, {167} and there set up a brazen nose over the entrance of their college as a souvenir of their former abode. Equally plausible is the tradition that upon the site of the college brewery once stood King Alfred’s brasinium (brewhouse), and that the name, clinging to the place through all the changes and chances of a thousand years, now appears under the slightly modified form of Brasenose. If the latter theory be correct, the Shrovetide feast and the yearly ode in praise of Brasenose Ale may be attributed to the desire to keep green the memory of the famous brewhouse of the good King, and the mighty liquor therein brewed for the royal table.

The merits of a celebrated Oxford butler, John Dawson of Christ Church, are commemorated in the following elegy:―

For a hundred years or more the town of Nottingham has been famous for its ales, and the song “Nottingham Ale” commemorates the many virtues of this justly celebrated “barley-wine.” Amongst others, it has virtues ecclesiastical:―

This song, which was a great favourite at the end of last century, was composed by one Gunthorpe, a naval officer, by way of payment for a cask of the “particular,” received as a present from his brother, who was a Nottingham Brewer.

To go further north, Newcastle, besides its coals, has long had the reputation for what, if we are to believe the townsmen of the place, is the best, the stoutest, the brightest “Stingo” that the heart of man can desire. As every Jack will have his Jill, so famous ale ever finds its appropriate verses. The song Newcastle Beer, of which a verse is, given below, extols the wonders wrought by English beer in general, and by that of Newcastle in particular:―

Warrington Ale, a song of last century, describes in glowing terms the good ale of that Lancashire town, and the poet, if he is to be believed, is evidently a man of some experience in various drinks:―

De Foe in his Tour through Great Britain eulogises the Lancashire ale of the period. In travelling through the northern parts of the county, “though it was but about the middle of August, and in some places the harvest hardly got in, we saw the mountains covered with {169} snow, and felt the cold very acute and piercing, but we found, as in all these northern countries, the people had a happy way of mixing the warm and the cold together; for the store of good ale which flows plentifully in the most mountainous parts of this country, seems abundantly to make up for all the inclemencies of the season, or difficulties of travelling.”

A certain very strong ale called Morocco is, or was, made at Levens Hall, in the County of Cumberland. Beef, or other meat, is an ingredient of this mighty brew, but the exact receipt is kept a secret. There is a tradition that the method of brewing Morocco was brought by a Crusader named Howard from certain unknown regions beyond the seas, and it is said that the receipt was buried during the Parliamentary wars, and was only unearthed many years afterwards. It is always brought in an immense and curiously wrought glass to everyone who dines at Levens for the first time, and the visitor is expected on no account to refuse the glass, but to take it and say, “To the health of the Lady of Levens.”

To go a little further north, the ales of Edinburgh are justly celebrated, old Scotch ale being as favourite a beverage as old Burton. Scotch brewers are great believers in malt and hops, and at the present day brew excellent light ales, as well as the mightier brew which has given them their world-wide reputation.

A curious ale is mentioned in the Buik of Chroniclis of Scotland (fifteenth century). Owing to a very severe winter in the reign of William the Lion, liquids of many kinds were frozen solid, and ale was sold by weight:―

The wanderings of the Penniless Pilgrim took him to Scotland, and he wonders much at the powers of ale-suction shown by the natives. “The Scots,” he says, “doe allow almost as large measure of their miles as they doe of their drinke, for an English gallon either of ale or wine is but their quart.” After rising from a repast, he tells how “the {170} servants of the house have enforced me into the seller or Buttery, where (in the way of kindnesse) they will make a man’s belly like a sowse-tub, and inforce mee to drinke as if they had a commission under the devil’s great seale, to murder men with drinking, with such a deal of complimentary oratory as, ‘off with your lap,’ ‘wind up your bottome,’ ‘up with your toplash,’ and many other eloquent phrases, which Tully and Demosthenes never heard of; that in conclusion I am persuaded three days fasting would have been more healthfull to mee, then two hours feeding and swilling in that manner.”

Christopher North, in his Noctes Ambrosianæ, mentions some of the famous Scotch ales of his day. After alluding to the ales of Berwick and of Giles, he says:―

“Maitland and Davison—again—has inspired my being with a new feeling, for which no language I am acquainted with can supply an adequate name. That feeling impels me to say these simple words on behalf of the Spirit of Ale in general—speaking through me, its organ—Ale loquitur—“If not suffered by Fate to fix my abode in barrels of Berwick or Giles, where I have long reigned alternate years, in all my glory, scarcely should I feel myself priviledged to blame my stars, were I ordered for a while to sojourn in one of Maitland—and Davison.”

A notice of Scoth ales, however short, would be incomplete without some reference to the great Scotch national poet, who sometimes, at any rate, would seem to have owed his inspiration to the “barley bree.” The song of Burns, O, Willie brew’d a peck o’ maut, is too well known to need repetition here. Who does not remember the chorus of this admirable chanson-à-boire:―

The occasion which the song was intended to celebrate is not so commonly known. The “three merry boys,” Willie, Rob, and Alan were respectively William Nicol, of the High School, Edinburgh, our poet, and Alan Masterton, who was a schoolmaster and musical amateur. The place of meeting was a small farm named Laggan, belonging to Nicol. The inspiring ale was Nicol’s, the song was Burns’, and the music was Alan Masterton’s. “We had such a joyous meeting,” says Burns, “that Mr. Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, to celebrate the business.” {171}

To pass to the Principality, Welsh ales were in Saxon times well known and highly esteemed. In the laws of Hywel Dda two kinds of ale are mentioned—Bragawd49, which was paid as tribute to the King by a free township, and Cwrwf, which was more common, and was paid by the servile township in cases where the former kind ran short. It may be hence gathered that in early times the highly-flavoured Bragawd was held in greater estimation than the Cwrwf; yet the latter has out-lived the former, and is still to be had in various parts of Wales, where it is consumed with great gusto by Cambria’s patriotic sons.

The neighbouring county of Hereford, now a great cider-drinking locality, had in former times at least one town with a reputation for good ale. “Lemster bread and Weobley ale” had passed into a proverb before the seventeenth century. The saying seems, however, to have been affected chiefly by the inhabitants of the county, who, perhaps, were not quite impartial. Ray, writing in 1737, ventures to question the pre-eminence ascribed to the places mentioned. For wheat he gives Hesten, in Middlesex, “and for ale Derby town, and Northdown in the Isle of Thanet, Hull in Yorkshire, and Sandbich in Cheshire, will scarcely give place to Weobley.” Herrick mentions this celebrated Northdown ale in the lines:―

Norfolk was once celebrated for a strong ale, bearing the euphonious name of Norfolk Nog. It is mentioned in Vanbrugh’s Journey to London, “Here, John Moody,” says Sir Francis, “get us a tankard of good hearty stuff presently.” “Sir,” is the reply, “here’s Norfolk Nog to be had next door.” Swift also knew something of this brew, and mentions that “Walpole laid a quart of nog on it.” “Clamber-skull” is probably a variety of this strong Norfolk ale, and earned its name from the rapidity with which it mounted to the heads of its votaries. Norfolk still holds a high place as an ale-producing county, and the ales of Great Yarmouth and Norwich are justly celebrated.

Its strength may be judged from the entry in John Byrom’s diary of about the same period (1725):—“I found the effect of last night’s drinking that foolish Dorset, which was pleasant enough, but it did not agree with me at all, for it made me very stupid all day.” These are the words of a man who has evidently loved not wisely but too well.

Cox, in his History of Dorsetshire (1700), states that “since by the French wars the coming of French wine is prohibited, the people here have learned to brew the finest malt liquors in the kingdom, so delicately clean and well tasted that the best judges . . . . prefer it to the ales most in vogue, as Hull, Derby, Burton, &c.” Great quantities of Dorchester beer were consumed in London during the seventeenth and the early part of the eighteenth centuries, but from that time the trade with London, for some reason—probably the expense of transit—gradually fell away. The excellence of the Dorset beer depended in a great measure upon the fact that the water of the neighbourhood possessed peculiarly good qualities for brewing purposes, and, that advantage being of a permanent character, there seems to be no reason why the Dorchester ales of the present day should not regain throughout the country the position they had at the beginning of last century. In the south and south-western portions of England they are held in very high esteem.

Barnstaple was famous for its ales in the middle of the last century; a writer in the Gentleman’s Magazine of Jan., 1753, says that they are as good as Derby ales, though not quite so famous.

Mum, a popular drink early in the last century, was a strong ale brewed chiefly from wheat-malt with the addition of various aromatic herbs. Mum-houses were in existence in 1664, for Mr. Samuel Pepys records that on a certain occasion he went “with Mr. Norbury near hand to the Fleece, a mum-house in Leadenhall, and there drank mum, and by-and-by broke up.” A receipt of the date 1682, describes the brewing of mum as follows:— {173}

“To make a vessel of sixty-three gallons, we are instructed that, the water must be first boiled to the consumption of a third part, then let it be brewed according to art with seven bushels of wheat-malt, one bushel of oat-malt, and one bushel of ground beans. When the mixture begins to work, the following ingredients are to be added: three pounds of the inner rind of the fir; one pound each of the tops of the fir and the birch; three handfuls of Carduus Benedictus, dried; two handfuls of flowers of Rosa solis; of burnet, betony, marjoram, avens, pennyroyal, flowers of elder, and wild thyme, one handful and a half each; three ounces of bruised seeds of cardamum; and one ounce of bruised bayberries. Subsequently ten new-laid eggs, not cracked or broken, are to be put into the hogshead, which is then to be stopped close, and not tapped for two years, a sea voyage greatly improving the drink.”

The origin of the word “mum” is somewhat disputed, but the best derivation seems to be from the name of Christopher Mummer, who is said to have been the first to brew it. Others assign to the word an origin from mummeln, to mutter, and this seems to have been Pope’s idea when he wrote the lines:―

Others, again, find the derivation in the word mum, meaning silence.

Brunswick is always given as its birthplace, and it was certainly known as early as the sixteenth century, for in an old work, De generibus ebriosorum et ebrietate vitanda (1515), “mommom sive mommum Brunsvigen” is mentioned as one of the drinks of Germany.

An old book, England’s Improvement by Sea and Land (1677), contains a remarkable proposition for bringing over the mum trade from Brunswick, and establishing it at Stratford-on-Avon.

The old writer, from whom the receipt before-quoted is taken, lays considerable stress on the fact that “the ingredients in its composition are very rare and choice simples, there being scarcely any disease in nature against which some of them is not a sure specific,” the implication apparently being that the combination of these ingredients would largely increase their healing power.

In one of the 400 letters addressed by Sir Richard Steele to his wife we find him writing under date December 6th, 1717:—“I went to bed last night after taking only a little broth; and all the day before a little tea and bread and butter, with two glasses of mum and a piece of bread. {174} at the House of Commons. Temperance and your company, as agreeable as you can make it, will make life tolerable if not easy, even with the gout.”

A particular variety of this beverage was known as Hamburgh mum, and a catch in its praise of the early part of last century mentions it as hailing from that city:―

Readers of Sir Walter Scott will remember that Mr. Oldbuck is described at breakfast as despising the modern slops of tea and coffee and substantially regaling himself “more majorum, with cold roast beef and mum.”

An Act of Parliament, which was passed annually during the greater part of the first half of this century, prescribed certain duties on “malt, mum, cyder and perry,” and a tale is told that when Mr. Perry, editor of the Morning Chronicle, was indicted for libel, he conducted his own case, and by his able defence secured a verdict of “Not guilty.” Cobbett, who was shortly afterwards tried on a similar charge, also conducted his own defence, but was convicted. Erskine remarked that Cobbett had tried to be Perry, when he should have been mum.

In the eighteenth century patriotic sentiment was invoked to support the failing popularity of mum, as may be gathered from the old work Political Merriment, or Truths to some Tune (1714), in which these lines occur:―

But all would not avail, and the liquor is now as dead as Christopher Mummer, the first inventor of it.

There is a tradition lingering in the northern parts of this island, that the Picts possessed the secret of making an ale from heather. Sir David Smith, in a MS. in the possession of the Duke of Northumberland, mentions a large trough cut in the solid rock at Kutchester, near the Roman wall. “The old peasants,” he says, “have a tradition that the Romans made a beverage somewhat like beer, of the bells of heather, and that this trough was used in the process of making it.” The tradition in Caithness runs that three Picts—an old blind man and his two sons—survived the rest of their race; that these alone of all mankind possessed the secret of making heather ale; that they guarded their secret with jealous care, and that they were in consequence much persecuted by their conquerors. At last the old Pict, in answer to the frequent importunities of his persecutors, promised to tell the secret, on condition that his two sons should be put to death. This was done, but the task was as far from accomplishment as ever, and nothing could be got from the old man but the truly Delphic words which are handed down in the couplet:―

The secret died with him.

True or false, this is the legend as related in the north, and certain it is that a heather beer was made until quite recently in some parts of Scotland and Ireland. The heather, however, is used as a flavouring rather than as an actual basis for making the drink. The blossoms of the heather are carefully gathered and cleansed, and are then placed in the bottom of vessels; wort of the ordinary kind is allowed to drain through the blossoms, and gains in its passage a peculiar and agreeable flavour, which is well known to all who are familiar with heather honey.

Pennant, in his Voyage to the Hebrides, mentions heather ale, and says that the proportions were two-thirds of the plant to one of hops (hops being sometimes added); and Mr. Weld, in his Two Months in the Highlands, {176} says that “although the art of brewing the Pictish heather ale is lost, old grouse shooters have tasted a beverage prepared by shepherds, on the moors, principally from heather flowers, though honey or sugar, to produce fermentation, was added.”

In some parts of Ireland there is a tradition that the Danes possessed the knowledge of making an intoxicating liquor from heather bells; this drink the peasants speak of as beoir-lochlonnach (i.e., strong at sea), an epithet by which the savage Northmen were known to the Celtic races. It is possible that there is some connection between this heather ale and the ale formerly made by the Swedes and flavoured with the Myrica gale. Reference to this plant is made in a Swedish law of the fifteenth century, in which it is forbidden to gather the blossoms before a certain period. The probability of this connection seems to be increased by the fact that in Yorkshire, a county which contains many descendants of the old Northmen, a beer is still made called “gale beer,” and is flavoured with the blossoms of a species of heather found growing on the moors in that part of the country.

As late as the commencement of this century an ale flavoured with heather, and differing little from the heather ale described, was brewed in many parts of Ireland. The practice, it is believed, is now almost if not quite extinct.

Irish moss ale is made in the following manner:—Take one ounce of Irish moss, one ounce of hops, one ounce of ginger, one ounce of Spanish juice, and one pound of sugar. Ten gallons of water are added and the mixture is boiled, fermented, and bottled. The consideration of the name of this liquor and the actual constituents may possibly remind readers of the old tale of that very clever person who made soup out of a stone with the assistance of a few such trifles as beef, vegetables, and flavourings.

Beer powders have been made, from which a good and refreshing drink may be procured by the simple addition of water. Various substances and juices have been used from time to time to improve the flavour or strength of ale. In Wales berries of the Mountain Ash were once used, and were said to greatly improve the flavour of the beverage. The sap of the sycamore tree is mentioned by Evelyn as being a most useful adjunct to the brewhouse; he says that one bushel of malt with sycamore sap makes as good ale as four bushels with water alone.

The service tree, the name of which is said to be a corruption of cerevisia, was so called because in former times a kind of ale was brewed {177} from its berries. Evelyn says that ale and beer, “brewed with these berries, being ripe, is an incomparable drink.”

Maize, beet-root, potatoes, parsnips, and other vegetables have each and all been used in the making of beer, but it seems very doubtful whether any combination of ingredients will ever equal the time-honoured partnership of malt and hops.

A writer in the Gentleman’s Magazine in 1758 says: “In many parts of the Kingdom, a beer is made of treacle—thus: to eight quarts of boiling water put a pound of treacle, a quarter of an ounce of ginger, and two bay leaves. Boil these for a quarter of an hour, then cool and work with yeast the same as beer.”

From treacle we naturally come to sugar. This chapter would be very incomplete without some mention of a kind of beer which is extensively brewed in England at the present day. It is brewed sometimes wholly of sugar, or sugar and malt. Occasionally rice is added. Looking at this sugar-beer from a chemist’s point of view, there is absolutely no fault to find with it; it is perfectly pure and perfectly wholesome. Nor is it found to differ, when analysed, from beer made from malt. There is certainly a popular prejudice against it, which may arise in a great measure from the love of the people for the historic drink made from malt. Though analysts cannot distinguish between malt liquors and beers made from sugar, there is usually a slight difference in flavour between them. It is a noteworthy fact that most of the largest firms, having extensive private businesses, brew from malt and hops. Their success certainly indicates the direction in which the popular taste runs. If Englishmen prefer malt liquors, it is surely to the interest of the brewers to give them the genuine barley-bree, and not beer brewed from sugar, however excellent it may be.

The use of malt by brewers is of no little importance to English grain-growers, and is rightly looked upon by many as of national concern. Considerable misconception, however, may exist on this point, for the brewing trade generally, say that of late years English barley, from climatic or other causes, has not been found altogether suitable for brewing purposes, rendering an admixture of foreign grain necessary. All we can do is to express a hope that the brewers are somewhat mistaken in their estimate of English barley; but that if they are correct, England may in future years be accorded its due share of sunshine—that blessing of which Dame Nature has been somewhat niggardly of late, so that malt made from English grain alone, may again fill our mash-tuns. {178}

A distinction between beers arises, in name at least, from the vessels in which they are contained. We have beer in casks and beer in bottles. Fuller, in his Worthies of England, ascribes the invention of bottled beer to Alexander Newell, Dean of St. Paul’s and a master of Westminster School in the reign of Queen Mary. The Dean was a devoted angler. “But,” says old Fuller, “whilst Newell was catching of fishes, Bishop Bonner was catching of Newell, and would certainly have sent him to the shambles, had not a good London merchant conveyed him away upon the seas.” Newell was engaged in his favourite pursuit on the banks of the Thames, when such pressing notice of his danger reached him, that he was obliged to take immediate flight. On his return to England, after Mary’s death, he remembered, when resuming his old amusement, that on the day of his flight he had left his simple repast, the liquor of which consisted of a bottle of beer, in a safe place in the river bank; there he sought it, and, as the quaint language of Fuller informs us, he “found it no bottle, but a gun, such the sound at the opening thereof; and this is believed (casualty is the mother of more invention than industry) the original of bottled ale in England.” If this be the true origin of bottled ale, the use of it must have spread rapidly, for we find it mentioned in many Elizabethan writers. In Ben Jonson’s Bartholomew fair, Ursula calls to the drawer to bring “A Bottle of Ale, to quench me, rascal,” and many other quotations could be given proving its use in those days. Of course ale must have been carried in bottles long before Newell’s time, almost as early, indeed, as bottles came into use, but the bottled ale referred to is that which has been so long in bottle as to have acquired a peculiar and delicious flavour combined with a certain briskness not found in draught ale.

The country which next to our own has for generations stood pre-eminent in matters of beer and brewing is Germany; there, as here, beer is the national drink, though the character of the liquors is somewhat different. The usual German beer is of an exceedingly light character, and so perishable that it is impossible to preserve it for any length of time even in the coolest cellar; four-and-twenty hours after a cask is tapped it must be emptied, or what remains is spoilt. Nearly every considerable town in Germany gives its name to the beer that is brewed there and consumed by the inhabitants. The beer of each town has its own peculiarities, and the worthy burghers are, of course, always ready to support both in deed and in word the superiority of their native drink. There is, for instance, the Jena beer, famous in that university, which is of a very peculiar character, and is only made at {179} Lichtenhain, a little village adjoining the university town. It is a species of white beer, and is brewed from wheat malt. The taste for this liquor must be one not easy of acquisition, for the author of German Life in Saxony describes it as being much like “cider and water, with a dash of camomile tea added to it.” The students, however, assure you that the taste once acquired remains so strong through life that Lichtenhainer is preferred to any other kind of beer.

So much has been written about student life and drinking customs that the subject will hardly bear repetition. Suffice it to say that in Heidelberg, Jena, and other large German universities there exist elaborate codes of drinking rules, in which Persons are classified in accordance with their seniority at the university, and the beer-honours and labours which their position entail; Things are divided into Principal things, subordinate things and appurtenances; Principal things are specified as “Lager-beer,” “black Cöstritzer-beer,” “Lichtenhainer-beer,” and all other white beers; appurtenances are “cans, doctors (a kind of measure), popes (another measure)” and other necessities of the drinking bouts. The actual laws of the code are far too long and complicated to be more than referred to here.

Lager beer is not unknown in England, and is sold at restaurants and hotels in most of our large towns. Much of it is imported; the rest comes from Lager-beer brewers, who have, within the last few years, started business in this country. Neither German nor Anglo-German beers appear to make much headway over here, nor is this very surprising when we remember how far superior our own ales and beers are to any brewed in Germany. The chief difference between lager50 and English beers is in the time occupied in the fermentation. Lager-beer brewers keep the wort at an exceedingly low temperature all through the process, the result being that fermentation is delayed over several days. Lager beer simply means beer which can be kept in lagers or stores. Germany has from very early times maintained a large export trade in Beer. It has already been shown that in the fifteenth century large quantities were exported into Scotland, and another instance is to be found in Rymer (H. 5. 1. 22), where there is a record of an appeal made by the consuls of Hamburgh to Henry VI. The appeal states “that certain of your Magnificence’s Subjects and Servants to wit Michael Schotte and Molchun Poerter of Calais, rulers or captains of a certain great ship of war specially fitted out, did with their Complices in that present year, about the feast of St. James the Apostle, hostilely seize, detain, and carry off at their pleasure two vessels laden with {180} Hamburg ale, to the no small hurt and injury of our fellow townsmen.” They therefore pray that the ships may be restored to them and compensation made for the outrage.”

Roberts, in his Map of Commerce (1638), says of Lubeck: “The place is famous for the beere made, and hence transported into other regions, and by some used medicinally for bruises of the body . . . though by them in use commonly both for their own drinke and food and rayment.”

One of the characteristics of Bavaria is the inordinate love of its inhabitants for their Bavarian beer, a love remarkable even amongst the beer-drinking Germans. In the towns the brewhouses are amongst the most important buildings, and the traveller remarks the number of beer cellars, whither the inhabitants resort to drink their favourite liquor. Brewing is the most flourishing trade, and the produce of Bavarian brewhouses is the best of continental beers. One of its chief peculiarities is that, although exposed to the air for lengthened periods, it will not turn acid as other beers do. This valuable quality is obtained for it by the peculiar management of the fermentation, and has been already referred to. Very little space can be afforded even for a general description of German beers, suffice it to say that their name is legion; there is black beer, white beer, brown beer, thin beer, strong beer, double beer, bitter beer, and countless local varieties of each and all these various liquors. One more special variety may be noted, and that is the strong ten-years-old ale known by the people of Dortmund as “Adam.” It is mentioned by Corvin in An Autobiography, who relates that “when King Frederick William IV. of Prussia visited Dortmund a deputation of the magistrates waited upon him, one of them bearing a salver with a large tankard filled with Adam. When the King asked what it was, and heard that it was the celebrated beer, he said ‘Very welcome; for it is extremely warm,’ and drained off the contents of the tankard at a draught. The members of the deputation, who were better acquainted with old Adam than the unsuspecting King, smiled at each other, for they knew what would be the result. His Majesty was unconscious for more than twenty-four hours.”

The best beer brewed in Norway is a more or less faithful imitation of the Bavarian beer, and travellers should be careful to ask for “Baiersk öl,” {181} as the ordinary “barley-wine” of the country is not described as being of a very choice character. Much the same may be said of Swedish beer, one variety of which, however, has obtained a place in history. The beer of Arboga was of so seductive a character that on the occasion of the invasion of Hako and his Norwegian and Danish levies, a large part of the army loitered behind in the various inns of the place, quaffing the luscious beverage, and their King, in consequence, lost the day.

ALE HOUSES: THEIR ORIGIN. — HOSPITALITY IN MEDIÆVAL TIMES. — OLD LONDON INNS AND TAVERNS. — ANECDOTES OF INNS AND INN KEEPERS. — CURIOUS SIGNS. — SIGN-BOARD AND ALE-HOUSE VERSES. — SIGN-BOARD ARTISTS. — ALE-HOUSE SONGS AND CATCHES.

O, SIR;” said Dr. Johnson, “there is no­thing which has yet been con­trived by man, by which so much hap­pi­ness is pro­duced, as by a good ta­vern or inn.” The ar­gu­ment by which the great Doc­tor leads up to this oracular de­li­ver­ance is as fol­lows:—“There is no pri­vate house in which people can enjoy them­selves so well as in a cap­i­tal ta­vern. Let there be ever so great plen­ty of good things, ever so much gran­deur, ever so much ele­gance, and ever so much de­sire that every­body should be easy, in the nature of things it cannot be; there must always be some degree of care and anxiety. The master of the house is anxious to entertain his guests, the guests are anxious to be agreeable to him, and no man but a very impudent dog indeed, can as freely command what is in another {183} man’s house as if it were his own; whereas, at a tavern there is a general freedom from anxiety. You are sure you are welcome, and the more noise you make, the more trouble you give, the more good things you call for, the welcomer you are. No servant will attend you with the alacrity which waiters do who are incited by the prospect of an immediate reward in proportion as they please.” The Doctor seems most conscientiously to have made his practice square with his preaching. Till the end of his life, although generally an abstemious man, he was regular in his attendance at the various taverns he patronised, and his burly figure was as well known amongst the frequenters of the inns and taverns of Fleet Street, as that of the most notorious roysterer of the time.

In his day the tavern—the London tavern especially—attained the highest point of social importance which it has ever reached; and many of those convivial and social functions, now for the most part discharged by the clubs and by private hospitality, were then considered to fell within its special province. During the last century the tavern gathered around its hospitable hearth those groups of savants and wits, which have been the starting points of many a scientific and literary society of the present day.

It is, of course, impossible for us in the space we are able to devote to the history of public hospitality in England, to do more than give a very slight sketch of the subject.

Most of the functions of the modern inn were in early days discharged by the hospitality of the Church. In the laws and constitutions of the various religious bodies are to be found directions to the clergy to observe the rites of hospitality, and a law of Ecgbright commands bishops and priests to have a house for the entertainment of strangers, not far from the church. The house here referred to would probably be the Almonry, where strangers and travellers, too poor or lowly to be entertained within the walls of the monastery, were fed and tended.

Persons of higher rank were received into the monastery, which was always furnished with a hospitium, or guest hall, for the entertainment of visitors and travellers. The importance of this monastic function may be judged from the size of some of the guest halls belonging to the larger religious bodies: one at Canterbury was a hundred and fifty feet long, and forty feet wide.

Visitors on their arrival at a monastery were met by the hosteler in the parletory, and after receiving greeting were conducted to the guest hall, where they were refreshed with meat and drink according to their {184} rank and importance. A small present was usually given at the gate on arrival, but, save for that, the entertainment seems to have been free. The guests were allowed to stay on these terms for two days and two nights; but on the third day after dinner, unless prevented by sickness or other just cause, they were to depart in peace.

Many constitutions of religious houses enjoin that hospitality should be shown to all comers, clerical or lay, and we are told that in some cases this liberality was much abused. The heirs of persons who had made large donations to religious houses, when they could not injure the monks by means of law, did their best to ruin them by constant visits with large retinues, and thus literally eat them out of house and home; and to such lengths did this custom extend that, in the reign of Edward I., it was found necessary to pass certain laws restraining such abuses.

By the rules of the Benedictine order, an officer was appointed, called the terrer, whose duty it was to see that the guest-chambers were kept clean. He was always to have on hand two tuns of wine for the entertainment of strangers, and also provender for their horses; and four yeomen were appointed to attend upon strangers, that nothing might be wanting to pilgrims and travellers of whatever rank they might be. In the middle ages the denial of hospitality was looked upon as disgraceful, and an ancient anecdote is related of the revenge taken by a travelling minstrel upon his host, on account of the meagre nature of the entertainment afforded. The minstrel sought a night’s food and lodging at an Abbey, when the abbot, a parsimonious man, happened to be absent. The monk in attendance at the hospitium, acting upon instructions, gave the poor minstrel nothing but black bread and water and a bed of straw. Next morning the traveller proceeded on his way, and meeting the abbot in the course of the journey, took occasion to thank him in good set phrase for the princely hospitality dispensed at his house, enlarging upon the choice viands and costly presents he had received. The abbot hastened home in great rage, and caused the monk, whom he believed to be guilty of the lavish waste, to be flogged and dismissed from his office.

One of the few instances of the public hospitality of the religious orders surviving down to our own days is to be found at the Hospital of Saint Cross, Winchester, where whoever knocks at the porter’s lodge is entitled to a slice of bread and a mug of small beer—very small, if rumour lies not.

Side by side with this monastic hospitality were the shelter and {185} entertainment afforded at the houses of the nobility and gentry when their owners were absent; and when they were at home, the practice of keeping open house seems to have been by no means rare. The traveller of gentle blood would be entertained at the lord’s table, while the servant, the travelling mechanic, the disbanded soldier, and other wanderers of lowly rank, would find rest and refreshment in the keep.

In process of time, however, this custom of pro­mis­cuous en­ter­tain­ment seems to have fal­len into disuse; the ac­com­mo­da­tion before provided by the castle or manor house being now af­ford­ed by a sep­a­rate inn set up close by, and fre­quent­ly kept by some worn-out servant of the castle, who would naturally bear upon his sign the arms of the dom­i­nant family, and would, for the purpose of en­ter­tain­ing tra­vel­lers, be regarded as representing the lord. It is possible that to this custom, or the preceding one, may be attributed the use of the expression landlord, as signifying the host of an inn.

In towns, those of the citizens who had large enough houses frequently made a practice of receiving guests, and taking money for their pains, thus adding the profession of a host to their other callings. Persons who practised this letting of lodgings were called herbergeors (i.e., harbourers), to distinguish them from the hostelers or innkeepers; and a further extension of the use of coats-of-arms for signs was thus brought about, the herbergeor frequently taking as his sign the arms of his most frequent or most influential guest. The Liber Albus mentions both classes of entertainers, and records that by the regulations of the City of London herbergeours and hostelers must be freemen of the City, and persons of a strange land desirous of being herbergeour or hosteler within the City must dwell in the heart of the City and not upon the waterside of the Thames.

Although hospitality was so freely exercised by the monks and great landowners, it must not be imagined that inns were unknown. Even in Saxon days, to go no further back, inns and village alehouses seem to have existed. Bracton tells us of a regulation of Edward the Confessor that if any man lay a third night in an inn he was called a third-night-awn-hinde, that is to say, he was looked upon in the same light as a servant of the house would be, and the host was answerable for him if he committed any offence—a curious illustration of that local and vicarious responsibility for crime which was so prominent a feature of our ancient polity. In much later times a similar regulation is to be found applying to “hostelers” in the City of London. The Liber Albus gives, as {186} one of the City rules, that no hosteler shall harbour a man beyond a day and a night, if he be not willing to produce such person to stand his trial, and in case such a person shall commit an offence, and absent himself, his host shall answer for him.

Goldsmith’s description of a village inn is probably as applicable to the old Saxon eala-hus of a thousand years ago as it was to the alehouse of his own time, and as it is to many in the present day:―

and the following descriptive verses of Leigh Hunt, entitled The Village Alehouse, a Picture in Detail, with but slight alterations, would serve equally as well:―

An inn or an alehouse, how­ever, was at the time of the Con­quest and for long after, far to seek. In the reign of Ed­ward I. there were on­ly three tav­erns in Lon­don, one in Chepe, one in Wall­brooke, and one in Lom­bard Street, and in coun­try dis­tricts the pro­por­tion to the pop­u­la­tion would doubt­less be as small, the want being sup­plied in the man­ner be­fore al­luded to. Even in the year 1552 the following list of the numbers of taverns allowed for the chief towns in England, no doubt shows a much smaller proportion to population than is seen at the present day. There were to be allowed forty in London, eight in York, four in Norwich, three in Westminster, six in Bristol, four in Hull, three in Shrewsbury, four in Exeter, three in Salisbury, four in Gloucester, four in Chester, three in Hereford, three in Worcester, three in Oxford, four in Cambridge, three in Southampton, four in Canterbury, three in Ipswich, three in Winchester, three in Colchester, and four in Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

Even parsonages seem to have been licensed as alehouses in very out-of-the-way districts. A survival of this custom, almost to our own times, is mentioned by Southey, who states that the parsonage house of Langdale was licensed as an alehouse, because it was so poor a living that the curate could not have otherwise supported himself.

The regulation previously mentioned as to the number of taverns, seems never to have been formally repealed; it could, however, only have been very slackly enforced, and doubtless soon became a dead letter. It was not, however, altogether forgotten, for in a letter from {188} the Lords in Council, in reply to a petition presented in the year 1618 by the parishioners of St. Mildred, in London, it is stated that “whereas the number of taverns had been limited to forty, and their places assigned,” there were then no less than four hundred in the City alone. The Lord Mayor and Common Council are therefore directed to put some restraint on this “enormous liberty of setting up taverns.”

The latter part of the sixteenth and the first half of the seventeenth centuries seem to have been remarkable for a great excess of alehouses, having regard to the wants of the population at the time. In 1591 a report of the Queen’s Council on the state of Lancashire and Cheshire states that the streets and alehouses are so crowded during service time that there was none in church but the curate and his clerk; that alehouses were innumerable, and that great abuses prevailed. In 1639 the Justices of Middlesex made presentment to the Council that there were twenty-four alehouses in Covent Garden, and that most of their keepers were chandlers who had got licensed surreptitiously at general meetings, and that the said Justices had reduced the number of the alehouses to four.

Old John Taylor, in Drinke and Welcome, gives evidence of the excessive facilities for drinking afforded at the fairs then so common. “Concerning the fructifying or fruitfulnesse of ale,” he says in his quaint way, “it is almost incredible, for twice every yeere there is a Faire at a small Towne called Kimbolton or Kimolton in Northamptonshire (as I take it), in which towne there are but thirty-eight Houses, which at the Faire time are encreased to thirty-nine Alehouses, for an old woman and her daughter doe in those dayes divide there one house into two, such is the operation and encreasing power of our English Ale.” Decker, writing in 1632, says that “a whole street is in some places but a continuous alehouse, not a shop to be seen between red lattice and red lattice.” This mention of the red lattice recalls the custom now extinct, but once well nigh universal, for the alehouses to have open windows to enable the guests to enjoy the fresh air. Privacy was ensured by a trellis or lattice, which was fixed in front of the window, and prevented a passer-by from seeing in, though those within could see out. Whether or not the red colour of the lattices was intended to harmonise with the noses of the frequenters may be considered a moot point; the page seems to have intended some such insinuation when he says of Bardolph, “He called me even now, my Lord, through a red lattice, and I could see no part of his face from the window; at last I spied his eyes and methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife’s new petticoat, and peeped through.” {189}

So usual did the red lattice become that it was regarded as a distinctive mark, as shown in Marston’s Antonio and Mellida, in which occurs the passage, “As well known by my wit as an alehouse by a red lattice.” Green lattices were occasionally used, and the memory of them still survives in the sign of The Green Lettuce.

Another feature peculiar to old country inns was the ale-bench, a seat in front of the house where the thirsty wayfarer might rest and take his modest quencher. An ancient institution was the ale-bench. It is mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon poem Beowulf and in the sixteenth century seems to have been considered the appropriate resting place of sententious and argumentative persons. One of the old Homilies (1547) alludes to those “which upon the ale-benches delight to set forth certain questions.”

Another institution of the old alehouse, corresponding in fact to the modern bar, was called the ale-stond, an allusion to which is to be found in Marprelate’s Epistle: “Therefore at length Sir Jefferie bethought him of a feat whereby he might both visit the ale-stond and also kepe his othe.”

In the sixteenth century the keeper of an alehouse was fancifully called an ale-draper. Chettle, in his Kind-Hearts’ Dreame (1592), has the following:—“I came up to London and fell to be some tapster, hostler, or chamberlaine in an inn. Well, I got me a wife; with her a little money; when we are married seeke a house we must; no other occupation have I but an ale-draper.” The Discoverie of the Knights of the Poste (1597) also contains an allusion to the phrase:—“‘So that nowe hee hath left brokery, and is become a draper.’ ‘A draper!’ quoth Freeman, ‘what draper? of woollin or of linnen?’ ‘No,’ qd he, ‘an ale-draper, wherein he hath more skil then in the other.’” Innkeepers in Whitby are denominated ale-drapers in the parish registers of last century.

In those good old days before the introduction of mail-coaches, to say nothing of the more modern means of transit, hospitality to the traveller was the rule in country districts. The Water Poet tells in his Pennilesse Pilgrimage that he travelled “on foot from London to Edinburgh in Scotland, not carrying money to or fro, neither begging, borrowing or asking meat.” However, from what he goes on to relate, this description of his journey needs to be accepted with some slight reservation, for he gives a comical recital of how “from Stamford we rode the next day to Huntingdon, where we lodged at the Post-master’s house at the signe of the Crowne.” The landlord appears, and “very {191} bountifully called for three quarts of wine and sugar and some jugges of beere. He did drink and begin healths like a horse-leach, and swallowed downe his cuppes without feeling, as if he had had the dropsie, or nine pound of spunge in his maw. In a word, as he is a Poste, he dranke poste, striving and calling by all means to make the reckoning great, or to make us men of great reckoning. But in his payment he was tyred like a jade, leaving the gentleman that was with me to discharge the terrible shott, or else one of my horses must have laine in pawne for his superfluous calling and unmannerly intrusion.”

The opinion of the great Doctor already quoted was not confined either to himself or to his times. Bishop Earle, writing in the seventeenth century of those social functions of the tavern or alehouse, now in a great measure discharged by the Clubs, sums up his description as follows:—“To give you the total reckoning of it, it is the busy man’s recreation, the idle man’s business, the melancholy man’s sanctuary, the stranger’s welcome, the inns of court man’s entertainment, the scholar’s kindness, and the citizens’ courtesy. It is the study of sparkling wits, and a cup of comedy their book; whence we leave them.”

Old Izaak Walton had a lively appreciation of the comforts of an inn and the virtues of English ale. Piscator, of The Complete Angler, thus addresses the hostess of an inn: “Come, hostess, dress it (a trout) presently, and get us what other meat the house will afford, and give us some of your best barley wine, the good liquor that our honest forefathers did use to drink of; the drink which preserved their health, and made them live so long and do so many good deeds.”

The quaint old author of The Haven of Health (1584) gives his readers directions how to find out the best alehouse in a strange town, and also some prudent maxims as to the behaviour there:—“But if you come as a stranger to any towne, and would faine know where the best ale is, you neede do no more than marke where the greatest noyse is of good fellows, as they call them, and the greatest repaire of beggars. But withall take good heed that malt bee not above wheat before you part. For it is worse to be drunke of Ale than wine, and the drunkenness indureth longer: by reason that the fumes and vapours of ale that ascend to the head, are more grosse, and therefore cannot be so soone resolved as those that rise up of wine.”

Malvolio is alluding to the custom of alehouse singing when he says: “Do you make an alehouse of my lady’s house, that ye squeak out your cozier’s catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice?”

The English custom of wives following their husbands to the ale {192} house is mentioned with reprehension by Gascoigne in A Delicate Diet for Daintie-mouthed Droonkards (1576). “What woman,” he exclaims, “(even among the droonken Almaines), is suffered to follow her husband into the Alehouse or Beerhouse?” However, if we are to believe the author of the following verses, the practice does not always seem to have been unfavourable to temperance:―

Many a tale is told of wordy passages of arms between travellers and innkeepers. Dame Halders, of Norwich, was a stingy ale-wife. Upon one occasion a passing pedlar begged of her a mug of water. “You had better,” said she, “have a jug of my home-brewed.” The pedlar complied and paid for it, remarking after tasting it that it was a very satisfying tipple. “Yes,” rejoined the dame, pleased at the supposed compliment uttered in the hearing of her country customers, “it’s my own brewing—nothing but malt and hops.” “Indeed,” exclaimed the pedlar; “what!—no water?” “O yes,” cried the dame, “I forgot the water.” “No,” quickly added the pedlar, “I’m d—d if you did.”

“I say,” a wag asked of a publican, “if we were to have a Coroner’s Inquest on your beer, what verdict should we arrive at?” “Give it up,” said Boniface. “Found drowned,” was the cruel reply.

“Have you a pair of steps?” asked a customer of an ale-wife, who was notorious for giving short measure. “Yes; what do you want it for?” {193} inquired the woman. “To go down and get at this ale,” was the reply pointing to the half-filled pewter.

It is not, however, always the host or the ale-wife who is made the object of these shafts of wit; as often as not it is Boniface who assumes the character of the joker. In illustration of his jests, the following extract is taken from the Mirror: “About half a century ago, when it was more the fashion to drink ale at Oxford than it is at present, a humorous fellow, of punning memory, established an alehouse near the pound, and wrote over his door, ‘Ale sold by the pound.’ As his ale was as good as his jokes, the Oxonians resorted to his house in great numbers, and sometimes staid there beyond the college hours. This was made a matter of complaint to the Vice-Chancellor, who was directed to take away his licence by one of the Proctors of the University. Boniface was summoned to attend, and when he came into the Vice-Chancellor’s presence he began hawking and spitting about the room; this the Chancellor observed, and asked what he meant by it. ‘Please your worship,’ said he, ‘I came here on purpose to clear myself.’ The Vice-Chancellor imagined that he actually weighed his ale and sold it by the pound. ‘Is that true?’ ‘No, an’t please your worship,’ replied the wit. ‘How do you, then?’ said the Chancellor. ‘Very well, I thank you, sir,’ replied he; ‘how do you do?’ The Chancellor laughed, and said, ‘Get away for a rascal; I’ll say no more to you.’ The fellow departed, and crossing the quadrangle met the Proctor who laid the information. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘the Chancellor wants to speak to you,’ and returned with him. ‘Here, sir,’ said he when he came into the Chancellor’s presence, ‘you sent me for a rascal, and I’ve brought you the greatest that I know of.’”

There is a good tale told of a certain innkeeper, who, had he received the advantages of an university education, would certainly have taken high mathematical honours. To him came a traveller, who demanded a tankard of treble X. Thereupon the innkeeper, having hesitated a moment, left the tap-room, to reappear shortly afterwards with a foam-crowned pewter. The traveller tasted, and exclaimed angrily, “This is not what I ordered!” “It is,” shortly replied Boniface; and retired to avoid discussion. The traveller was a connoisseur in beer, and knew he had been given table ale. Calling the potboy, he questioned him “No, master kept no strong beer,” said the lad; “nothing more than double X.” The traveller then summoned the landlord, and the meeting was stormy. The traveller asserted, the host denied, and came off finally triumphant with, “I know I don’t keep treble X, {194} but I can make it. I just gave you half double X and t’other half single X, and if two and one don’t make three, my name’s not Boniface.”

The very grotesque figure which adorns this page represents Cornelius Caton, landlord of the “White Lion,” Richmond, about the middle of last century. Beginning life as a potboy, he rose through various stages till he became landlord of the house. He was almost a dwarf, and his whimsical character and unfailing good humour brought him much custom. The illustration is taken from a very rare print.

The portrait of an old Cumberland landlord of the hard-drinking days is drawn in the following ballad, which was written by some wandering bard, in the album kept at the “Rising Sun,” Pooley Bridge:— {195}

Rather profane the last verse; but, perhaps, not more so than the epitaph on one Matilda Brown:―

At King’s Stanley, in Gloucestershire, is the following epitaph to another hostess, one Ann Collins:―

The ancient George Inn, Salisbury, depicted in our illustration, was in the vicinity of the Royal residence at Clarendon, and four hundred years ago was one of the best and most commodious inns in the west of England. In the records of the Corporation of the town a lease of this house is found, dated April 9th, 1473; it is made to one John Gryme, a saddler, and contains a description of the rooms of the inn, and an inventory of furniture. The house contained at that date {197} thirteen guest chambers, viz.:—The Principal Chamber, the Earl’s Chamber, the Pantry adjoining, the Oxford Chamber, the Abingdon Chamber, the Squire’s Chamber, the Lombard’s Chamber, the Garret, the George, the Clarendon, the Understent, the Fitzwaryn, and the London Chamber.

There was also the taberna or wine-cellar, the Buttery, the Tap House, the Kitchen, the Hostry, and the Parlour. The furniture, of which a full inventory is appended, seems to have been of a very homely type. No difference seems to have been made between the living and the sleeping rooms; each room was supplied with beds, the relative importance of which was measured by the number of planks they contained, and the only other articles of furniture were tables on tressels for dining and forms of oak and beech for the guests to sit at table. The Principal room was distinguished by the possession of a cupboard, and each room contained three beds.

Another fine old inn is the Falcon of Chester. It is notable as a good example of old half-timbered work. {198}

Malone, in his Supplement to Shakspere, mentions the fact that many of our old plays were acted in the yards of Carriers’ Inns, in which, he says, “in the beginning of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, the comedians, who then first united themselves in companies, erected an occasional stage. The form of these temporary play-houses seems to be preserved in our modern theatre. The galleries are in both ranged over each other, on three sides of the building. The small rooms under the lowest of these galleries answer to our present boxes; and it is observable that these, even in theatres which were built in a subsequent period, expressly for dramatic exhibitions, still retained their old name, and are frequently called rooms by our ancient writers. The yard bears a sufficient resemblance to the pit, as at present in use. We may suppose the stage to have been raised in this area, on the fourth side, with its back to the gateway of the inn, at which the money for admission was taken. Here, in the middle of the Globe, and, I suppose, of the other public theatres in the time of Shakespeare, there was an open yard or area, where the common people stood to see the exhibition, from which circumstances they are called groundlings, and by Ben Jonson, ‘the understanding gentlemen of the ground.’”

At the beginning of the present century the Angel at Islington was a typical, old-fashioned country inn, long and low, with deep overhanging eaves, and a central yard surrounded by double galleries, open to the air and communicating with the bedrooms. Travellers approaching London from the north would frequently remain at the Angel the night, rather than venture into London by dark along a road dangerous alike from its ruts and its footpads. Persons whose business took them to Islington after dark usually waited at an avenue, which then existed on the site of John Street, until a sufficient number of them had assembled to go on in safety to their destination, whither they were escorted by an armed patrol appointed for that purpose. What a striking picture of the insecurity of life and limb in districts close to the metropolis not one hundred years ago!

A curious custom, known as the Highgate Oath, held its ground for many a long year, and has only fallen into disuse within living memory. When a traveller passed through Highgate towards London for the first time he was brought before a pair of horns at one of the taverns, and there a mock oath was administered to him, to the effect that he would never drink small beer when he could get strong, unless he liked it better; that, with a similar saving clause, he would never drink gruel when he could command turtle soup; nor make love to the maid, when {199} he could court the mistress, unless he preferred the maid; with much more to the same effect. In the old coaching days scarcely a coach passed through Highgate without some of its occupants being initiated and we may well imagine that copious streams of ale would flow to “wet” the time-honoured custom. It is to this custom that Byron makes allusion in Childe Harold:―

The privileges belonging to a freeman of Highgate who had taken the oath are described as follows:—“If at any time you are going through Highgate, and want to rest yourself, and you see a pig lying in the ditch, you have liberty to kick her out and take her place; but if you see three lying together, you must only kick out the middle one and lie between the two others.”

The custom is said to have been originated by a club of graziers who were wont to tarry at Highgate on their way to London, and who, in order to keep their company select, would admit none to their society before he had gone through a process of initiation, which consisted of kissing between the horns, one of their oxen brought to the door for the purpose.

Interesting as are many of our old country inns and village ale-houses, and numberless the tales that might be told of the doings within their time-stained walls; “of quips and cranks and wanton wiles”; of the village feast, the village minstrelsy, the “jocund rebeck’s” sound to ears long since deaf; the song; the toast pledged by lips long since cold—interesting as all these are, it is when we come to the history of our old London taverns, fragmentary though it be, that we really find ourselves face to face with the clearest pictures of the social life and customs of the past. It is here that memories gather thickest of the

In the history of the old London taverns may be seen the habits, the customs, and the amusements of by-gone generations of Londoners. Innumerable pictures of society, and modes of life and thought, might be gathered from among the records of these houses of entertainment. For centuries before these days of telegraphs and newspapers, it was to the tavern that men resorted to hear the latest news, to exchange ideas and to refresh their minds, as well as bodies, after the labours of the day. It was here the traveller told his tale of marvels, of “contrees and the yles that ben beyond Cathay”; it was here the stay-at-home gathered what information he possessed of lands and nations over the seas.

Space forbids us to mention more than a very few of these old London Inns. That old Tabard—what a picture of fourteenth-century life does its very name recall! The earliest mention of this typical old Southwark Inn—an inn which after seeing all the changes and chances of five centuries, fell a victim but yesterday to that modern Vandal, the improver (save the mark!)—occurs in a register of the Abbey of Hyde, near Winchester, where we find that two tenements were conveyed by William de Ludegarsale to the Abbot in 1306, the site being described as extending in length from the common ditch of Southwark eastwards, as far as the royal way towards the west. This royal way was none other than the old Roman road which connected London with Kent and the south. Stow, writing three centuries later, thus mentions the inn and its sign: “From thence towards London Bridge,” he writes, “bee many faire Innes, for receit of travellers, by these signes, the Spurre, Christopher, Bull, Queen’s Head, Tabard, George, Hart, King’s Head, etc. Amongst the which the most ancient is the Tabard, so called of the signe, which as wee do now terme it, is of a Jacket or sleevelesse coate whole before, open on both sides, with a square collar, winged at the shoulders; a stately garment, of old time commonly worne of noblemen and others, both at home and abroad in the warres; but then, (to wit in the warres) their Armes embroidered, or otherwise depict upon them that every man by his coate of Armes might be knowne from others: But now these Tabards are onely worne by the Heralds, and bee called their coates of Armes in service. Of the Inne of the Tabard, Geffrey Chaucer Esquire, the most famous poet of England, in commendation thereof, writeth thus:―

—The Merchant with his forked beard and “Flaundrisch bevere hat”—The Clerk of Oxenford—The Sergeant of Law, “war and wys”—The Franklin—The Ploughman—The Cook, and every other of that goodly company—How fresh their pictures are to-day! Each touch, each tint, as clear, as bright, as though the great father of English poetry had but yesterday laid aside his pencil! And then the Host, none other than the Henry Bayley of the Tabard, who represented the borough of Southwark in Parliament in 1376, and again in 1378, how interesting it is to observe his demeanour, as depicted by Chaucer. Quite at his ease, and on an equality with his guests, he talks with them, jests with them, in person presides over the table, acts as umpire and judge of the tales they tell upon the journey, and generally behaves more like a man who entertains his friends than a landlord serving his guests; and, be it remembered, these guests were not by any means of the lowest rank of life:

The old Tabard was partly burnt down in the great South­wark fire in 1676, and on re­build­ing the ruined portion “that ig­no­rant land­lord or ten­ant,” Aubrey tells us, “in­stead of the an­cient sign of the Ta­bard put up the Tal­bot or doge.” In this con­di­tion it re­mained un­til a few years ago, when, de­spite the pro­tests of the an­ti­quarian world, de­spite the pages of re­mon­strance with which the news­papers and mag­a­zines were filled, it was pulled down, and is now re­placed by a tall brick build­ing. Had we not enough and to spare of these tall brick build­ings?

At the time when Knight wrote his History of London, the original house was sufficiently complete for him to leave us a description of the old arched entrance to the inn-yard, the balustraded galleries on which the bedrooms opened, the gabled roofs, the panelled rooms, and last, {203} but not least, the Pilgrim’s room, which tradition said was the veritable scene of the supper on the night before the guests set out upon their world-famed pilgrimage.

John Lydgate, a Benedictine monk of Bury St. Edmunds, writing about the same time as Chaucer, mentions that Cornhill was in his time noted for its taverns, where was “wine one pint for a pennie, and bread to drink it was given free at every tavern.”

In a black-letter sheet entitled Newes from Bartholomew Fayre, of probably the early part of the seventeenth century, some of the most famous inns of London are thus whimsically enumerated:―

Most of these hostelries, famous in their day and generation, were swept away in the Great Fire of London.

The Boar’s Head in Eastcheap, “near London stone,” was one of the oldest inns in London. It stood near the site whereon the statue to William IV. in King William Street has been erected. It was there that Prince Hal and “honest Jack Falstaff” played their wildest pranks. Carved oak figures of the two worthies stood at the door of the house until the Great Fire; and the proud inscription, “This is the chief tavern in London,” appeared upon the signboard until the house was finally pulled down in 1831, to make way for the approaches of London Bridge. In the year 1718 one James Austin, the inventor of “Persian inkpowder,” whatever that may have been, desiring to entertain his chief customers, and also, no doubt, to advertise his wonderful powder, issued invitations for a Brobdingnagian repast to be partaken of at the Boar’s Head. The feast was to consist of an enormous plum-pudding, weighing 1,000 lbs., {204} and the best piece of an ox roasted; this wonderous pudding was put to boil on Monday, May 12th, in a copper at the Red Lion Inn in Southwark, where it had to boil for fourteen days. As soon as this mighty feat of cookery was accomplished, a triumphant procession was formed, and the pudding set out on its journey, escorted by a band playing What lumps of pudding my mother gave me; but, alas, for the vanity of all things human! the tempting dish had not proceeded far upon its way, when the mob, goaded to madness by the savoury odour of the pudding, fell upon the escort, and, having put them to the rout, tore the pudding in pieces, and devoured it there and then.

Some years ago a great mound of rubbish in Whitechapel, supposed to be the carted remains of the City after the Great Fire, was cleared away, and the relic, of which we give a representation, was discovered. It is an oak carving, dated at the back 1568, and had a name written upon it which was found to correspond with that of the landlord of the Boar’s Head, Eastcheap, in that year.

A ballad, which assigns to each inn its particular class of customers, is introduced by Thomas Heywood into his Rape of Lucrece:―

The taverns of the seventeenth century seem in many cases to have occupied the upper part of a house, the lower portion being devoted to some other trade. Izaak Walton’s Complete Angler was to be “sold at his shopp in Fleet Street, under the King’s Head Tavern.” Bishop Earle, who wrote in the early part of that century, seems to signify that there was often a tavern above and an alehouse below. “A tavern,” he says, “is a degree or (if you will) a pair of stairs above an alehouse where men are drunk with more credit and apology. . . . Men come here to be merry, and indeed make a noise, and the music above is answered with a clinking below.”

Amongst the inns and taverns frequented by Shakspere may be mentioned the Falcon Tavern, by the Bankside, which was the place of meeting of the mighty poets and wits of the Elizabethan age—of Shakspere, Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Massinger, Ford, Beaumont, Fletcher, Drayton, Herrick, and a host of lesser names. An assemblage, indeed, unique in any country or in any age! Here took place those “wit combats,” of which Fuller speaks, between Shakspere and Ben Jonson, “which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war; Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning; solid, but slow, in his performances. Shakspere, like the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds by the quickness of his wit and invention.”

An example of the kindly passages of wit between these two great spirits has come down to us, having been preserved from the oblivion that shrouds the bulk of them by Sir Nicholas Lestrange, in his {206} Merry Passages and Jests. The passage, in the compiler’s own words is as follows:—“Shakspere was god-father to one of Ben Jonson’s children; and after the christening, being in a deep study, Jonson came to cheer him up, and asked him why he was so melancholy. ‘No, faith, Ben,’ (says he), ‘not I; but I have been considering a great while what should be the fittest gift for me to bestow upon my god-child; and I have resolved at last.’ ‘I prythee what?’ says he, ‘I ’faith, Ben, I’ll e’en give him a dozen good Latin spoons (i.e. latten, an inferior metal), and thou shalt translate them.’” Whether the Spanish great galleon could bring his guns to bear upon his nimble antagonist in this encounter is left unrecorded; but we can imagine that the great scholar would not be without a retort to a jest which was directed against his classic learning by one who had “little Latin and less Greek.”

The great poet seems to have had many god-children. Of one, Sir William Davenant, while yet a boy, the following tradition remains. The father of Sir William was host of the Crown at Oxford, and at this house Shakspere would frequently lodge on his journeys between Stratford-on-Avon and London. Malicious rumour had it that the lad was of a closer relationship than that of god-son only, and upon one occasion, on the poet’s arrival at Oxford, the boy, who was sent for to meet him, was asked by a grave master of one of the colleges whither he was going. “Home,” said the lad, “to see my god-father.” “Fie, child,” said the don, “why art thou so superfluous? Hast not thou yet learnt not to use the name of God in vain?”

The Mermaid, in Bread Street, was often the place of meeting of these convivial wits. Beaumont, then a mere lad, addressing Jonson in verse, writes:―

Sir Walter Raleigh established a literary club at this house in the year, 1603. Amongst the members were Shakspere, Jonson, Beaumont {207} Fletcher, Selden, Donne, and many scarcely less illustrious names. Herrick, in graceful lyrics, bears witness to similar sparkling gatherings of a somewhat later date, and to other houses where they were held:―

Ben Jonson, in inviting a friend to sup with him at the Mermaid, promises him―

The Swan at Charing Cross, however, was the house where Jonson was always most sure of getting the best draught of his favourite liquor.

Aubrey relates that the poet was upon one occasion dining with King James, and when called upon to say grace produced the following lines:―

Whereupon “the King was mighty inquisitive to know who this Ralph was. Ben told him ’twas the drawer at the Swanne Taverne by Charing Crosse, who drew him good canarie. For this drollerie his Ma^tie. gave him an hundred pounds.”

The legend of St. Dunstan, who, being tempted of the devil in bodily form, took the prince of darkness by the nose, and

was commemorated on the signboard of a celebrated inn in Fleet Street, which was called “The Devil” for short. The old inn stood on the site now occupied by Child’s Bank, and it was there that the meetings of the celebrated Apollo Club were held, and rare Ben Jonson, with other kindred spirits, passed the sparkling wine and still more sparkling jest. Here over the entrance of the Apollo Chamber were inscribed the well-known lines beginning

Sim Wadlow, whom Jonson dubbed “the king of skinkers,”51 was one of the famous landlords of this house. The following epitaph on this notorious character is recorded by Camden in his Remaines:―

These lines may be thus rendered:―

Our illustration depicts two innkeepers, who were probably Sim Wadlow’s contemporaries. {209}

During the last century The Devil Tavern was the resort of the wits and literary men of the day. Addison and Dr. Garth often dined here; and Dr. Johnson here once presided at a supper that lasted till dawn peeped in at the windows. The inn was pulled down in the year 1788.

Nearly opposite to the Devil stood the Cock Tavern, for centuries, and until a few months ago, when it was closed for alterations, frequented by the Templars. We hope that it was not for this reason that its internal arrangements were spoken of by the Laureate as―

This Tavern, once known as the Cock and Bottle, and subsequently as the Cock Alehouse, was a noted house in the seventeenth century. The effigy of the Cock, which until recently used to stand over the door, was reputed to have been carved by the great Grinling Gibbons. At the time of the Plague of London the following advertisement appeared in the Intelligencer:—“This is to certify that the Master of the Cock and Bottle, commonly called the Cock Alehouse, hath dismissed his servants, and shut up his house for this long vacation, intending (God willing) to return at Michaelmass next, so that all persons who have any accounts {210} or farthings belonging to the said house are desired to repair thither before the 8th of this instant July, and they shall receive satisfaction.” The Cock, however, seems to have soon resumed its hospitality, for we read that Pepys shortly afterwards went “by water to the Temple, and then to the Cock Alehouse, and drank, and ate a lobster, and sang, and mighty merry. So almost night, I carried Mrs. Pierce home; and then Knipp and I to the Temple again, and took boat, it being darkish, and to Foxhall, it being now night, and a bonfire burning at Lambeth for the King’s coronation day.”

A waiter at this house is commemorated in the well-known lines of Will Waterproof’s Monologue:―

The old Cock alehouse is now no more; but the sign which for two hundred years has looked down upon the bustling Fleet Street crowds, together with the “old boxes” and carved oak over-mantel, have found a resting-place at “The Temple Bar,” on the other side of the way.